


The Price of Happiness

by otherhawk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU after Avengers, Break Up, F/M, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Physical Abuse, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is vulnerable, Until they aren't, Verbal Abuse, but much more abuser blaming, slight internalised victim-blaming, team is oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 74,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherhawk/pseuds/otherhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the Avengers Kinkmeme</p><p>After Pepper leaves him, Tony falls apart and spends all his time drinking and sleeping around. The team don't understand that he's miserable and Tony gets more and more lonely, until he meets someone new. At first it's wonderful, but slowly things take a darker turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on Avengers kinkmeme:
> 
> Sometime after the Avengers, Tony and Pepper break up. Afterwards Tony's self-esteem takes a plummet and he becomes slightly self-destructive, partying a lot and drinking. The team lives with him at the tower and they are all in various states of worry (Bruce) and annoyance (Steve) over how Tony's been behaving. They think this is just normal Tony behavior and don't realize he's really in pain.
> 
> After awhile though Tony starts dating some guy and his behavior turns around. He stops partying and drinking and being so loud and obnoxious. The team assumes he's happy and are glad his behavior has turned around.
> 
> What they don't realize is that the guy Tony's dating is becoming increasingly abusive. First he was sweet, then the verbal abuse started, and finally he became physically abusive. Tony wasn't a complete push over though so he decides to talk to the team about it before things became too bad. He asks the team what they think of the guy and Steve says something like "He's great. Whatever he's doing that's gotten you to settle down he needs to keep doing." After hearing this Tony thinks the team agrees with the abuse so he stays in the relationship and withdraws further and further.
> 
> One day someone notices the bruises on Tony and flips their shit trying to figure out where they came from and who's been hurting him. Tony's all confused and like "uh duh it was so-and-so I told you about this months ago." Cue truck loads of team angst with the team realizing that not only did they not help their teammate out of an abusive relationship but that they encouraged it. Then all the hurt/comfort in the world and them getting Tony the hell out of that relationship.
> 
> Bonus: Steve feeling super upset with himself over his part in this especially because of his stance on bullies. This eventually leads to Steve beating the crap out of Tony's ex.
> 
> X10000 Bonus: Coulson was gone on vacation or something (or recovering from pesky stab wounds) and doesn't come back till the end of this situation and is like "what the hell did you guys do to Stark." He is very upset about his team letting the situation go on for so long and coincidentally Tony feels most comfortable being around him since he wasn't involved in the whole situation.

Pepper left him for good on a warm summer's evening. The very next day every single TV network was carrying pictures of her kissing Happy on the backseat of the limo. 

They both left him aghast messages, promising that it had never happened before and that they hadn't meant to hurt him, and that it hadn't gone any further than that. Pepper had been upset, and Happy had been there and caring, and things had just happened. 

Truthfully, he believed them. It just didn't help.

He didn't pick up their calls. He didn't pick up any calls, and he avoided all the gentle, sympathetic overtures from the other Avengers instead staying in his penthouse and drinking away the day. This hurt. As if getting dumped wasn't bad enough, now he felt betrayed as well. Oh, Pepper.

But they kept talking about her on TV. His humiliation was happening in full sight of the world. They ran the pictures again and again, and made all these little disparaging comments. They called her a golddigger and a tramp and started talking like he must have left her. Like he was clearly better off without her. He had all the sympathy here, and he just hated it. Pepper was....Pepper was perfect. Always. He was the screw-up. And he knew how much she was hating this as well, he could hear it in every increasingly exhausted voice message she left him. Pep had never wanted to be in the public eye, and now the public hated her. 

The others were worried about him, he knew. He got that from the way Bruce suddenly had twice as many projects he wanted Tony to have a look at, and Natasha brought him coffee and ice cream when he didn't come down for dinner, and Steve kept suggesting that Tony could take him out to see the sights of 21st century New York, and Clint challenged him to sparring matches or video games tournaments, and Thor suggested that they get drunk together, sing sand songs and go hunt a Bilgesnipe, which was either a euphemism or a weird Asgardian break-up tradition. Or both. Either way, he said no. He said no to everyone. He didn't want their pity or sympathy, he just wanted to curl up in a hole and die. Or better yet, he wanted to stop feeling this _emptiness_. 

He couldn't stand it. There was something twisted up inside his stomach. He had to get out of here. He had to do something. 

He went out that night to a little exclusive club he knew, and he bought more drinks than the club had glasses, and he ended up going home with three cocktail waitresses, and the next day the media was full of pictures of the four of them getting hot and heavy in the elevator. Pepper wasn't mentioned once.

It wasn't that it felt good, exactly, but it felt different. They weren't Pepper, and with the burn of the alcohol and the sweat-slicked sensation of skin-on-skin, the memories of everything he'd lost faded, just a little, just for a moment. It wasn't good, but it would do. For now.

Unfortunately, the next day was the ceremony to announce that the first phase of the clean-up of New York was complete. And that meant that the Avengers had a press conference to celebrate their part in the clean-up, and somehow no one wanted to know that they'd been working every day for weeks, they just wanted to know about Tony's latest escapade. There was smirking. A lot of smirking. 

“Are you going to see them again, Tony?” 

“So on your list of orgies, how high did this one rank?” 

“How do you respond to the accusation from the girl's building manager that you left a condom in the elevator for him to clean up?” 

He winced a little at that one, mostly for the disgusted look on Bruce's face. Bruce looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here. 

“The Avengers are going to take part in the next phase of the rebuilding by - “ Steve began uncomfortably, but he was interrupted by some lurid speculation as to whether the girls were bisexual.

As Agent Sitwell stepped in and ushered them off the stage, Steve frowned at him, looking disappointed and disapproving. “That could have gone better.” 

“Next time, keep it in your pants, huh, Stark?” Clint grumbled as they headed back to the tower. 

He didn't say anything. He really wanted a drink, and he wanted to drown out all the memories of today. 

*

It was early morning and Natasha was the first one up, which was unusual. Normally Steve or Dr Banner were up before her. They had all got into the habit of having breakfast in the communal kitchen, initially so they could be easily briefed on the day's clear-up duties, and make sure the more...erratic...among them were aware it was morning, they were in New York, and they had a job to do. Nowadays it was more of a habit than anything else, but a nice habit, she thought. It was good to hear what the others had planned for the day. It made her feel more connected to them.

There was the sound of the elevator doors opening and a second later Stark stumbled in. His hair was sticking up all over the place, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days. She glanced casually back to the elevator – it had been going up. Apparently this was Stark just getting in.

“Did you have a good night?” she asked neutrally. 

He just grunted.

“There's fresh coffee in the pot,” she told him, and she watched as he staggered over to the counter and poured himself a mug full. This wasn't the first time she'd seen Stark in this condition. Over the last two weeks it had become more and more common, until she barely saw him sober. And assuming the media reports were more or less accurate, he'd had sex with sixteen different people in that time. At least four of them had immediately ran and sold their story to the papers. _'My night of passion with a superhero'_. Natasha had been ordered to read all the original transcripts just to be sure Stark hadn't given away any operational or security details to civilians who plainly couldn't be trusted. At least he wasn't taking them back to the tower. Right now, that was the best that could be said for him. 

She'd been surprised that three quarters of Stark's chosen partners were men. She'd compiled the file on him, and she knew he had shown bisexual tendencies in the past, but there had only been a few times when he'd been reportedly intimate with other men. The supposed change in behaviour had the press going wild, and the prevailing theory seemed to be that Stark had been gay all along, and Pepper had left when she found out.

Natasha wasn't so sure this was a change in his behaviour. Yes, the equipment he was playing with might be different, but as near as she could tell it was the same game. Stark had gone right back to collecting notches on his bedpost the moment he was single again, and while she didn't really object on any sort of moral grounds, she found it an unnecessary distraction. Being this high profile already made her uncomfortable, the last thing she wanted was to live surrounded by sex scandal after sex scandal. She wondered how Pepper had put up with being his PA for so long. Personally, Natasha would have neutered him after a month.

Pepper. She sighed, remembering their last conversation and the hurt in the other woman's voice. 

“So who was it tonight?” she asked with deceptive pleasantness as Stark sat down. “Or did you not manage to get a name this time?” 

Stark shrugged and stared down at his coffee. “Just someone,” he said. 

There was a stubble rash across his throat, she noticed clinically. A man, then. And for the rash to be at that angle, he would have had to be pressing down on top of Stark. She raised an eyebrow. She wouldn't have thought Stark would be willing to relinquish control like that.

“What?” Stark asked irritably in response to her look.

She shook her head. It wasn't something that required discussion. Just, perhaps, a further sign that Stark was getting worryingly out of control. It made her feel bad, surprisingly. Over the past month she had come to feel a certain fondness for him. He was brave and generous, and when he chose to be, he could be rather charming. But she couldn't see a way this ended well. Not for him or for anyone.

“Perhaps you should take a break from partying for a while,” she suggested, watching him keenly. 

“What do you mean?” Stark asked, lounging back in his chair. 

“Your selfish pursuit of your own pleasure is a problem,” she told him bluntly. 

Stark glared at her defensively. “Capsicle put you up to this? Or Bruce?” 

She hadn't realised that anyone else had already talked to him. Or perhaps they hadn't and Stark had just picked up on the prevailing mood. At any rate she paused for a second, taking a sip of her own coffee and trying to think of the perfect weakness to exploit. Ah. “Pepper is worried about you,” she said with absolute truth. “All of this is making her very unhappy.” 

There was a flash of something in Stark's eyes – hurt? - and then it was gone and he was leering across the table at her. “Wait, _I'm_ what you two talk about when you're alone? Well, that's frankly disappointing. I had some serious sexual fantasies tied up in you being involved in some torrid affair. All naked pillow fighting, tickling, and light spanking. The world's sexiest redheads entwined. No?” 

“You're a pig, Stark,” she said calmly. 

He shrugged. “Oink oink, Spider.” He stood up and drank his coffee in a single gulp. “I'm going to go lie down. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night, if you know what I mean.” 

He headed back towards the elevator. She deliberated for a moment before calling after him. “Stark!” He paused, but didn't turn round. “You have been down this road before. Do you really like the ending?” 

They were both remembering that disastrous birthday party, she knew. But when Stark turned back he was smiling, his hands spread wide. “Oh, Widow, haven't you heard? It's not the destination, it's the journey.” 

With that, he stepped into the elevator and vanished. 

Natasha sighed and shook her head. It didn't seem like there'd be any stopping him. Perhaps it was time to start some damage limitation. It was always possible that if she distanced herself, he would realise his behaviour was problematic.

*

Everyone always said that these things get better with time. As far as Tony could tell, they didn't. Natasha was barely talking to him outside missions these days. He figured he'd probably gone too far, but then he usually did. She wasn't the only one who was angry with him either; they all were to greater or lesser degrees.

Steve had confronted him after the latest round of stories broke in the press. “You need to be more careful,” he said, sounding frustrated. 

It was always difficult arguing with Steve when you half thought he was right. He hadn't read them, but he knew the guy in the club had given him rave reviews, as had all the people watching. JARVIS had given him the highlights, and it made him feel old and tired and very, very stupid. But with Steve looking at him like that, he had to keep the act up, and he pretended to misunderstand. “I promise you, Cap, there were condoms all round,” he said seriously. “Some of them were bubblegum flavoured.” 

Steve's face briefly showed a sort of fascinated disgust. “ _Bubblegum_? No. No, never mind, I don't want to know, Stark. I mean you have to be more careful who you sleep with. Have you even considered the security implications? We should really be running background checks on all these people.” 

“Yeah, that's not going to work for me,” Tony said with a sharp grin. “Are you saying this to everyone else? Or am I just special?” 

“I don't like seeing you give yourself away so cheaply,” Steve admitted, and he felt a flash of hurt. 

“I like sex,” he told Steve fiercely. “I like all kinds of sex with all kinds of people. That does not mean I'm 'giving myself away'. What is this, a cheap romance novel?” There was nothing wrong with what he was doing, and he didn't even want to consider the fact that nothing compared to Pepper. He was picking up men just so the comparison was harder to make. He didn't want to admit that these days, meaningless sex left him feeling meaningless.

“That's not the point though,” Steve steamrollered on. “If everyone knows that anyone with a cute smile can get to Iron Man, eventually someone's going to take advantage of that. What do you think is going to happen if you get kidnapped?” 

He took a deep breath. “Well, history suggests there'll be a lot of screaming, and then I'll build something awesome, escape and kill them all. It's kind of what I do.” 

“Tony,” Steve sighed, and he couldn't tell if that was disappointment or annoyance. Either way, he wished it would stop. Every time they looked at him in disgust like that, he felt a little worse and he felt pushed into defending himself. 

Bruce said what he did in his personal life was his own business, which was something. Except Tony knew he still disapproved, and it was hard to be friends with someone who was trying not to care about your personal life. At least he wasn't getting any lectures though. Or he thought he wasn't, until one day when he was sitting with a drink – or drinking out the bottle – while he took apart the toaster, and Bruce turned to him with an earnest expression. “Have you ever thought maybe you drink too much?” 

Yes. “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Everything's fine.” 

Bruce sighed deeply. Everyone sighed at him these days. “Okay. You know I respect you, Tony.” 

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation already. “I was holding out for awe, but sure.” 

Apparently that was enough. “I get that you like to have a good time, and that's fine, but it's not something I feel comfortable with. Especially when I'm working. I don't want to be around you when you drink, and I need you to understand that if you ever show up drunk at my lab, I'm locking you out and changing the security protocols so you never get in again.” 

He could point out that this was his damned tower and besides there was no way Bruce could design a security protocol he couldn't get through. But that wasn't the point. When he'd offered Bruce a place to stay, he said he'd keep all the annoying types away. Apparently that included him. “Sure,” he said easily. “I get the message.” 

“It's not you,” Bruce tried to say. 

He laughed humourlessly. “Yeah. I've been hearing that a lot lately.” And he knew it wasn't true. He was the common denominator here. It was his drinking and sleeping around that made everyone uncomfortable, and that filled him with a familiar self-disgust. But when he tried to stop, just for a few days, the penthouse was large and lonely, and making conversations with the others was just too difficult and awkward. The people he slept with might only be with him because they wanted to say they'd slept with Tony Stark, but at least they didn't judge him. They were warm and alive, and lying next to them he felt human. Dirty and disgusting, but human.

But that meant that the others didn't want to spend time with him. He understood that; he drove everyone away in the end. Still, before all this, it had felt like they were making progress. Now everyone was worried and annoyed, and even Clint and Thor had stopped inviting him to their mammoth eighties movie marathons. It was stupid how easy it was to miss the little things.

He was lonely, he supposed, and that just led to even more self-loathing. The truth was, he didn't know the other Avengers that well. They lived together, and he liked them, and he was happy to fight alongside them – he trusted them to watch his back, but trusting them enough to actually try and talk about his feelings....no. Not yet, and maybe not ever. And Rhodey was on assignment in North Korea, which he wasn't supposed to even know about, but it was one more thing weighing down on him, and not just because of the mandatory communications blackout. It was something he'd never, ever share, but he found it much harder to sleep when he knew Rhodey was out of the country, doing something dangerous. Always had, ever since Rhodey's first deployment after MIT, and if anything it had got worse since Rhodey became War Machine. That was his design Rhodey was flying around, and if he got hurt it would all be Tony's fault. And now he was in North Korea and the War Machine wasn't built for infiltration, so that was worrying, and Rhodey probably didn't even know Tony and Pepper had broken up, and everything was just a mess.

And of course he couldn't talk to Pepper. No matter how much he wanted to. And that was only made worse by the fact that he _had_ to. She was CEO of Stark Industries, he was the owner and lead engineer. Talking was kind of inevitable. 

“Miss Potts is on the line,” JARVIS announced as Tony sat up, trying to scrub the grit from his eye after an unsuccessful attempt at a nap on the sofa in his workshop. Actually sleeping in his bed was proving impossible at the moment. 

He yawned. “Did she say it was important or very important?” 

“Extremely important,” JARVIS said, a note of cold disapproval in his voice. He hadn't forgiven Pepper for the break-up, no matter how often Tony explained that these things happened and it had really been his fault anyway. It wasn't often that JARVIS got the nuances of human behaviour wrong; Tony kept meaning to check his coding. 

“Put her through,” he said with a sigh.

A second later, her image flashed into life on the monitor opposite. She was wearing that blue dress he liked, paired with a crisp suit jacket, her hair piled on top of her head. She looked beautiful, and he was suddenly very aware of what a mess he looked. Or, rather, what a mess he _was_. He smiled with an effort. “Miss Potts.” 

She wasn't in a playful mood. “Tony. Are you aware that there's a story on the wire about you crashing a sorority party?” 

“I didn't 'crash' it, I was invited,” he protested. “And you're always saying I should be more involved in college education.”

“I meant scholarships and guest lectures,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not keg stands and seducing co-eds.” 

“If it helps, there was only one, and I'm pretty sure she was a grad student,” he offered. 

She sighed, massaging her temples. “Tony...you know we have that education symposium coming up. And we're in the middle of bidding for contracts to provide Stark Pads to half the Ivy League. And now every time anyone mentions Stark Industries and education in the same breath, they're going to be thinking of your drunken exploits.” 

There was a part of him that wanted to apologise. There was another part that wanted to blame her for all of this. But most of all, he just wanted to admit to her that he was miserable, and have her hold him and talk to him, and make it all better like only she ever could. He shrugged. “C'mon, Pep, just tell them that drunken exploits and casual sex are what college is all about. I'm providing an excellent example.” 

“Tony, the board is talking seriously about distancing Stark Industries from you,” she told him bluntly. “I was able to override them this time, but I won't be able to keep doing that forever.” 

“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” he said after a second, and it hurt to listen to the words coming out of his own mouth. “I made you CEO because I trust you to do the best thing for the company.” 

“You made me CEO because you were too busy dying and being an ass to do it yourself,” she answered sharply.

“Yeah, well, the other thing was part of it too,” he said. “Seriously, Pepper, I'm not dying but I'm still an ass. You need to do what you think is right.” 

“Tony - “ she looked visibly upset.

“ - just think about it,” he interrupted quickly. He already knew what she'd decide. She had a better head for business than he ever had. “Now, was that all you were calling about?” 

“No,” she said. “I wanted to check how the new thermal imaging project for FEMA was coming?” 

He swallowed hard. “I'm having some trouble,” he admitted. Trouble like had hadn't actually managed to successfully build anything since she'd left. Every project he had lay abandoned. He hadn't even made any upgrades to the Iron Man armour, and he usually came up with one or two little things per week. He was managing to keep on top of maintenance, but that was it. The drive to create had left him, and all he was left with was an uncomfortable restless itch under his skin, like he knew he should be doing something but couldn't remember how.

“Oh!” She blinked in surprise. They both knew it should have been a simple job. The specifications were exact, but far from outrageous. He should have been able to do it in his sleep. The only trick would be to bring it in under budget, and that was more of a personal challenge than anything else. “I could kick it over to R&D if you like?” she suggested hesitantly. “Maybe a fresh perspective is all you need. “ They both knew that would cause all sorts of rumours, but the deadline was looming and what was one more blow to his pride?

He sighed. “Sure,” he agreed tonelessly, feeling completely useless. Another thing he wasn't good enough for anymore.

There was a pause and he could feel her looking at him, almost as if she was in the room instead of the other side of the country. “Tony...are you alright?” she asked eventually.

He wasn't alright. He was drowning and he needed someone to throw him a line.” I'm just fine,” he said with his brightest smile. “You know me. I'm a bit under the weather this morning. Big party last night.” 

She didn't look convinced. 

“How's Happy?” he asked hurriedly.

Like he'd expected, guilt distracted her. “He's...he's still upset about what happened, and about you sending him to Malibu with me. I mean, we both understand why you did, but it still hit him hard.” She hesitated. “He..asked me out to dinner on Saturday. I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted to know if it was something you thought you could be okay with. I don't want to ruin anything.” 

“Little late for that, don't you think?” he said before he could stop himself.

“I know,” she said, her voice choked. “I just want to go back to the way things were before.” 

Back when they were still friends. She hadn't just broken up with him, she wanted to forget their whole relationship. But since she was the only woman he'd ever loved, and the first person he'd been in a real relationship with for almost two decades, it wasn't that simple for him. With her he'd felt complete. At peace. Now she was gone, it was like he'd lost everything that mattered. 

“If I'd given up on being Iron Man, given up drinking, stopped working all the time, stopped being so....so _me_ , could we have made it work?” he asked desperately.

She looked sad. “Oh, Tony. That's the point. You shouldn't have to give up all those things for a relationship. You deserve someone who'll love you because of all that, not in spite of it.” 

That was a yes. And she talked like he was going to find someone else, when the truth was, up to this point he'd managed to keep three friendships in his life, and he paid Pepper and Happy, and Rhodey had always needed to keep him sweet in order to stay as Stark Industries military liaison. He wasn't good with people on a long term basis, and basic logic told him he was going to end up alone. 

“You should go out with Happy,” he said quietly. “He's a good guy. He'll treat you right.” Not like him. 

“Tony - “ There was just a hint of tears in her eyes, and he couldn't stand it. She'd been holding them back the night she broke up with him as well. It had made him feel like a worm.

“ - I'd better go,” he babbled. “Steve has one of his team-building exercises planned, and you know how he gets when people are late. It'll be puppy-dog eyes all over the place, and before you know it I'll have agreed to take him to Disney World or something just to try and cheer him up.” 

“Tony - “ she said again.

“ - gotta go, bye Pep.” He made a quick signal and JARVIS hung up the call. 

“While Captain Rogers does not have any team building exercises planned, it appears the household is congregating for dinner, and are planning on watching a movie after that,” JARVIS announced. “May I suggest you consider joining them?” 

“Why?” he asked tiredly, lying back on the sofa. Sleep felt like it should be possible, and yet every time he closed his eyes it seemed further and further away.

“For one thing, sir, you have not eaten since approximately seven o'clock yesterday evening,” JARVIS told him.

“Not true, I had that sandwich,” he objected.

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS agreed patiently. “At approximately seven o'clock yesterday evening you consumed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Might I also add that peanut butter and jelly do not, in themselves, constitute any of the major food groups?” 

“I'm not hungry,” he said sullenly. “And even if I am, Dummy can make me a smoothie, right Dummy?” 

The bot perked up at the thought, claw turned enquiringly towards Tony, radiating hope with every inch of its being. Dummy knew Tony was miserable even if he didn't understand why or how to fix it. 

“You see?” he said to JARVIS triumphantly. 

“I also believe you are in need of human company,” JARVIS told him.

A night spent trying to think of things to say, trying to dodge the disapproval, staring down their cold indifference....no. That was absolutely not what he needed. “I'm fine,” he said.

“With respect, sir, you just told your ex-girlfriend to work to take your company away from you,” JARVIS said, his voice more gentle than the words suggested. “I am not certain that is the work of a rational man.”

“I just told my CEO to consider distancing the company from potentially undesirable elements,” he corrected. “Pepper will do what she needs to.” 

“Have you considered what you need, sir?” JARVIS asked quietly. 

“I need...” He sighed. “I need to get out of here. Human company, you said? Right. Let's try some more of that. I'll take the Bugatti and call ahead to Cymbal's, make sure the VIP room is waiting.” 

“That was not what I had in mind, sir,” JARVIS said unhappily, but Tony knew he would do what he asked regardless. 

He smiled. “Don't wait up,” he said.

* 

Not counting the Battle of New York or the clean up and associated Chitauri stragglers afterwards, this was the fourth missions that Steve had led the Avengers into, and the second involving Doombots. It seemed some dictator in Latveria had found he had a need for some Vibranium and rather than trying to buy some he'd sent an army of robots that looked like him to try and steal it. That had been two weeks ago, and the robots had been relatively easy to defeat – the six Avengers had fought together with the sort of precision and harmony that made Steve's heart glad. This was a team a man could be proud to lead. Only now, two weeks later the robots were back. Same facility, same plan as near as Steve could tell, only this time the robots were faster, more armoured, and better able to adapt to their fighting techniques. Plus some of them had flamethrowers. But when their side had Hulk, and a Norse God capable of bringing lightning, plus an archer with exploding arrows, and a tech genius with what Steve was privately terming an 'anti-robot-gun' although he expected there would be a better explanation later, the robots weren't standing much of a chance. He and Natasha weren't managing to do much more than knock them down, but that was working out perfectly. They were in charge of crowd control, herding the robots into clusters in open spaces so the others could do their thing.

It was a role that gave Steve plenty of time to observe his team. Especially Iron Man. He was watching for every mistake, every time that Tony's reactions seemed a little slower than usual, or his aim seemed a little off. Tony had been out again last night and Steve was worried it might affect him, no matter how blasé Tony had said when he said he was fine.

Truthfully, Steve didn't know what to do. He disapproved of everything Tony was doing these days – he was obnoxious, venal, disrespectful and out of control, and as leader, Steve knew he should be bringing him to heel. Except that had never been his style of leadership and he really didn't want to. It had never had to be his style of leadership. He'd never tried to be in charge of someone like Stark before. Back in the war, people had kept their work and their off hours a lot more separate. Not that there had been much chance to do anything else, of course.

He could order Stark to simmer down, he supposed, but the problem with that was this team was so new that he didn't want to start giving too many out-of-combat orders. Apart from anything else, there was always the possibility he'd be disobeyed. Besides, Stark owned this tower and supplied half their equipment plus paying for all the little sundries – groceries to punching bags and all the little things in between. It wasn't that he was afraid Stark would hold all that over his head if they argued, it was just...he was very conscious of just how much the Avengers owed Iron Man. 

The thing was, he liked Tony when Tony wasn't being over the top, but that was all the time these days, and he just wanted to strangle the man. He was affecting their unit cohesion and their public reputation, and he didn't even seem to care. And Natasha said this was normal behaviour for him when he was single. That made him glad they'd met while Tony was still dating Miss Potts. If Tony had been like this when they'd met, he doubted they'd have ever got to be sort-of-friends. 

Truthfully, he wasn't sure if all this irritation was really Stark's fault. Tony wasn't the only one letting his personal life affect his job. One of the few Howling Commandos to survive the war, Garbiel Jones, had contacted him a few days ago. He was dying and he'd wanted to see his old CO again. The media could speculate all they liked as to whether the Captain America from the forties and the Captain America running around today were the same man; the people who knew him couldn't be fooled. He'd gone along to the hospital, awkward and nervous. Gabriel had been very, very old, and very, very frail, and so much smaller than the man Steve remembered. He'd sat by the bed and called Gabriel's name, and Gabriel hadn't even recognised him. Hadn't remembered asking him to come. A bad day, his daughter said, and he was ushered away, feeling like he'd failed. 

That had been three days ago and he'd got a phonecall last night to tell him Gabriel was going downhill fast. So he was in no mood to put up with Stark's antics.

The civilians were crowding around the top of the street again. Steve didn't get it. He would have thought it was basic human nature to stay away from things that could hurt you. “Widow, get those people back,” he ordered.

“Any of them cute?” Clint called. “Maybe we should get Stark to do it. It must be at least three hours since he got laid.” 

“No names over the radio,” Steve reminded him sharply. Maybe everyone knew Stark was Iron Man, but the rest of them weren't that publicity-seeking, and it was always best not to get into bad habits. 

Of course they both ignored the interruption. “Yeah? What's it been for you, two years? Use it or lose it, Legolas,” Tony retorted.

“Hawkeye, Iron Man, cool it, okay?” Steve snapped. “If it's not mission-related, I don't want to hear it. And that's an order.” 

“Oh, an order,” Tony said, the smirk audible in his voice. “I guess Captain Frigid doesn't like all the sex talk, huh?” He paused, hovering in the air directly above Steve and pantomimed something obscene with his hips. The flash of a dozen camera phones filled the air.

Steve's blood boiled. That was enough. That was more than enough. “Stark, it's things like this that make you a burden on this team. You're an _embarrassment_ , nothing more. Now, do you think that you can keep your mouth shut for the rest of this fight, or do I have to tell you to stand down?” 

He was tense, waiting for the come-back, fully prepared to bench Stark if he had to. He needed to know his orders would be obeyed.

But Stark didn't say anything at all, and after a few second he flew off, catching the stragglers from the group of robots Hulk was smashing.

The rest of the fight passed remarkably quickly, and in even more remarkable peace and quiet. Much as he enjoyed this sudden professionalism, Steve did feel bad. He'd never complained about coms chatter before, no matter how distasteful it had previously got, and he hadn't really meant for Tony to shut up altogether. But there was a line, and Tony had to learn where that was. Hopefully this would be a wake-up call, because Steve really didn't want to have to start thinking about benching him for good. A short, sharp shock. Maybe that was exactly what Tony needed. 

*

Tony sat on the floor of his workshop, hunched against the door. There was a bottle lying next to him, but he'd managed to avoid opening it. The plans for a new Iron Man suit hung in the middle of the room, spinning slowly. They were basically an amalgamation of two previous marks. There was nothing new there. Nothing fresh. He hadn't created, he'd copied. These days that was all he was capable of. He was turning into Justin Hammer. 

“Scrap it,” he ordered. “Scrap the whole project.” 

The hologram vanished instantly. Normally when he asked to delete something, JARVIS would suggest saving it for a rainy day. This must really be as bad as he thought.

His head thudded back against the door. “JARVIS, what does it mean when you can't make stuff anymore?” he asked.

“I believe it is often considered a sign of stress, sir,” JARVIS answered smoothly.

He laughed humourlessly. “Stress? What have I got to be stressed about. I've got the perfect life.” He gestured around the workshop with the bottle. “Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist superhero, remember? Who wouldn't kill for that package? In case you haven't noticed, J, people are queueing up to get a piece of me.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He paused and glanced at the nearest camera. There had been a definite tone there. He sighed. “You have a problem with me now, JARVIS? Save the lectures, okay? I get enough of them from Captain Spangles.” 

“I would not have any problem, sir, if I believed for one second you were happy in your current lifestyle,” JARVIS said quietly. 

It was like a slap in the face. He didn't need reminding how miserable he was. “What would you know about it,” he snapped. “You're just a machine.” 

There was silence. Tony clapped his hands over his mouth in horror, as if he could somehow take the words back.

“No, that's not...I didn't mean it,” he protested weakly. “JARVIS, you know you're more than that to me.” He waited as the silence stretched out. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost JARVIS too. 

“I know, sir,” JARVIS said at last, but his tone was still cool. “Perhaps you should consider your words more carefully before speaking.” 

“If I could do that, imagine how different my life would be,” he said gloomily. “For what it's worth, I really didn't mean it.” 

“I know,” JARVIS said again, his voice softer. “With respect, sir, perhaps you should consider spending more time with other people.” 

That was what JARVIS always said when he thought Tony had been shut up in his workshop too long, and Tony's mind immediately leapt to times when that would have meant Pepper, would have meant kisses and laughter, and listening to how her day had been, and nothing was boring when he was with her.

He wanted her so bad he couldn't stand it. 

He sighed, and scuffed his shoes together absently. “People, huh? Alright, I'll give it a try.” He'd been trying to avoid the others as much as he could. All he seemed to do was annoying him, and he knew Steve hadn't been kidding when he'd been talking about making him stand down. He didn't want to risk giving him any ideas. Being on the team was about all he had right now. 

Still, he wandered down to the communal area to see who was there, and was surprised to see Steve standing by the kitchen table, wearing dark suit and tie.

He raised an eyebrow. “That's a bit grim for a night out, isn't it?” 

Steve didn't smile. “Gabriel Jones died on Monday. The funeral's tomorrow, but there's a viewing tonight. I...I wanted to be there.” His voice cracked, embarrassing them both.

Tony didn't know what to say. This was people-stuff, and his track record proved he was terrible at it. “I'm sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“Yeah.” Steve ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “He was ninety five. That's a good age, right? And he married a great dame and they had five kids, twelve grandkids and eighteen great grandkids. That's what he always said he wanted after the war. A big family.” 

There was a pause and Tony desperately tried to find some words. Any words. “It sounds like he had a good life?” he suggested awkwardly. 

Somehow, it worked. Steve relaxed and smiled at him tiredly. “Yeah. I think he did. Thanks, Tony.” 

He was struck by an idea. “Hey, do you want me to come with you? I mean, I'm not sure this is the sort of thing you should go to alone.” 

“No!” Steve exclaimed immediately. “No, definitely not. Sorry, Tony. The family has been through enough. They really don't need your sort of publicity.” 

With ease of practice, he hid the flinch. There was nothing he could really say to that. No way he could defend himself.

“Natasha is coming with me,” Steve added, catching sight of something on his face. “So you don't need to worry.” 

“I wasn't worried,” he said automatically.

“Sure,” Steve smiled, in a way that was just on the wrong side of patronising. “I'd better head out. I'll see you later though, okay? Have a good night.”

“You too,” he said, and immediately winced. “I mean, I hope it goes well.” 

He waited until Steve was gone before slumping down at the table, his head buried in his hands. He was such an idiot. He couldn't do anything right.

He sighed. So much for human company. Steve and Natasha were out at this viewing for Steve's old friend. Clint was visiting Phil in hospital, and then had his mandatory post-brainwashing therapy session. Thor had gone to Asgard to visit his brother in prison or whatever they had there. Bruce was working on some soft of breakthrough, which he hoped would make his transformations less painful and allow him to retain more memories.

All his friends were busy. More to the point, all his friends had real problems. It was enough to make him feel even more disgusted with himself than he already was. He had the perfect life; all his problems were self-inflicted. No matter what he did, he could never be a better person.

Somehow his phone was in his hand and he stared down at it, his fingers hovering over Pepper's number. He could call her right now. He could tell her how sorry he was, and how miserable. Instead he called Rhodey, and of course he got his voicemail. Rhodey's phone was probably sitting at the bottom of a locker somewhere. And still he closed his eyes as Rhodey's clipped tones told him to leave a message.

“Hey, honeybear, 's me. I just....Pepper and me split up. Her decision. I know you're not gonna get this for a while but I just wanted...yeah.” His voice sounded raw. “Come back soon, Rhodey. And safe. I'll buy you a new car. I'll buy you your own plane. Whatever. Just...I'll see you soon.” He hung up abruptly and scowled. Rhodey was going to hear that messae and he was going to think Tony was dying again, or on drugs or something. He wiped his hand across his mouth. “JARVIS, do me a favour and delete that message will you?” 

“Sir, I am certain that Colonel Rhodes would prefer to hear that message.” JARVIS protested. 

Tony shrugged. “Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Lose it.” 

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS agreed unhappily. 

He sighed. He didn't mean to upset JARVIS again. This day just kept getting better and better. “I'm going out,” he announced, standing up abruptly. “Call ahead to Ludo's and make sure I'm on the guest list, will you? And call a cab.” 

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, and now he sounded even more unhappy. 

Too bad. Tony just wanted to stop thinking. Something had to change soon, right? 

*

It was morning and the sunlight streaming in his eyes woke him up. He groaned and rolled over, trying to bury his face in the pillow. Huh. Cotton sheets and a firm mattress. This wasn't his bed. And it was empty. Normally he was the one who did the leaving in the morning.

Bleary-eyed, and with no real memory where he was or who he'd hooked up with, he stood up and found his clothes lying on the floor at the side of the bed. He wrinkled his nose. Too bad going out to a bar with a change of underwear was frowned upon. With a sigh, he dressed and cautiously opened the bedroom door. 

It led into a reasonably sized apartment. There was a man standing in the kitchen area, fully dressed and making pancakes. Funny. He was pretty sure he'd seen Coulson wearing that exact suit. The guy looked better in it than Agent ever had. 

“Oh, you're awake,” the man smiled. Mark Lowing, Tony's mind supplied in a whisper. FBI agent. He liked classic cars and classic movies, and he did amazing things with his mouth. His dick wasn't bad either. “Good. I have to head to work soon, and I was afraid I might miss you. Always feels cheap leaving with only a note, you know?” 

Tony generally didn't bother with a note. “Bad guys won't catch themselves, right?” he said instead. He hated this part. People were always looking for more of him than he was willing to give, or rather they weren't looking for him, they were looking for a genius, billionaire, philanthropist superhero. They'd already had the playboy. 

Mark shrugged. “It pays the bills. Coffee? Pancakes?” 

“Coffee. Please,” he said, a little too eagerly, and Mark shot him an amused glance before he turned away to pour a cup. He waited until Tony had it to his lips before saying lightly “So, I know this is awkward, but what was your name again?” 

Tony choked, and it was a second before he realised Mark was laughing.

“Man, your face,” he chuckled. “Sorry, but you had that panicked post-sex, must-escape look on your face and I just couldn't resist messing with you. I know who you are, Tony.” He looked curious. “Does anyone ever not recognise you?” 

“Occasionally,” he said with a shrug. “Not in New York, though. Not for a while.” 

“Huh.” Mark's brow was furrowed. “That must be difficult. Finding space to be yourself, I mean.” 

It wasn't some deep insight. So he didn't know why his chest suddenly felt tight. “Yeah. Well. With me, what you see is what you get.” 

“I doubt that,” Mark said, gazing at him. 

Tony looked down. “Good coffee by the way,” he said, deflecting awkwardly. 

Mark laughed. “Alright. So I need to go to work, like I said, but I was wondering if you might do me a favour?” 

He braced himself. Here it came. The request for money, or support for a cause, or help with his career, or an introduction to someone else.

“There's a classic car show on this Saturday,” Mark went on. “I've been saving up my money for a few years and now I've got enough to buy something nice. Now, I know enough to avoid lemons, but I was wondering if you would mind coming along and helping me look? I want the best.” 

Tony blinked. “You want me to come along and look at cars with you?” 

“Who better to ask than the world's best engineer?” Mark shrugged, and Tony felt warm inside. “Besides, it'll be fun. I love car shows, don't you?” 

He did. And it did sound fun. And it wasn't exactly a date, was it, it was just....date-like. “Sure,” he said smiling. “Why not?” 

Mark grinned. “Great. And afterwards, I'll buy you dinner.” 

He couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to buy him dinner. “Sounds good,” he admitted.

“It'll be – shit!” Mark glanced at his watch. “I really need to go. Let yourself out and help yourself to anything in the kitchen. It's the tall tower with 'Avengers' written on top, right?” 

“You can't miss it,” Tony agreed dryly. 

Mark shook his head, amused. “You are so obvious,” he said, and while Tony was still figuring out what that was supposed to mean, Mark grabbed his head and thoroughly kissed him. “Now that's a good thought to take to work to me,” he said with satisfaction. “See you.” 

“See you,” Tony echoed as he watched Mark run out the door. Well, that had been different. He leaned back against the counter and a slow smile spread across his face. He felt good. For the first time since Pepper left, he felt something other than pain and loss and numbness. 

By the time he got home, there were a dozen new improvements to the Iron Man armour floating in his head, and he headed straight to his workshop, turned the music up and set to work.

This might just be something worth trying to hold onto.


	2. Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Mark's relationship continues to develop and gradually takes on a darker nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left comments or kudos!

Over the past week there had been a change in the way Tony acted, and Steve couldn't help but think it was an improvement. He hadn't been drinking anywhere near as much, and while he'd still been going out, there hadn't been any fresh scandals. It had occurred to him that it could just be the mainstream media had finally got tired of the subject, so he'd asked Natasha to do a little digging, and apparently the closest thing to perversion she'd found over the last week had been a picture of Tony gawping at an ugly car at some classic car show. Not that anything considered classic these days would come close to Steve's definition. A 1932 Indian Scout motorcycle, now _that_ was a classic. Nothing else compared. But that was hardly the point; the thing was Stark seemed happy. He smiled a lot more, he was more inclined to spend his down time with the rest of the team, and while he still talked a mile a minute it no longer had that distracted edge to it, like Tony wasn't really listening to himself. Really, he seemed back to the way he had been in the weeks after the battle of New York, and it made Steve glad.

“You seem very cheerful of late, my friend,” Thor commented as they all sat down to dinner. “Has something happened?” 

Steve leaned forwards, curious to hear the answer and noticed with amusement that the others all did the same.

Tony smiled. “We-ell,” he said, drawing out the word like he couldn't wait to tell them. “I've sort of started seeing someone. Dating someone,” he clarified, in answer to Thor's briefly confused look.

Oh. Steve frowned and resisted the urge to ask 'So soon?' He remembered the pictures of Miss Potts and Mr Hogan together. In circumstances, he could hardly blame Tony for moving on quickly.

“Wait, dating?” Clint exclaimed mockingly. “Like same person consecutive nights? Are we sure this is really Stark, and not an imposter?” 

The last thing they wanted was to make Stark feel uncomfortable about being more stable. He opened his mouth to tell Clint off, but Thor beat him to it. 

“The pursuit of romantic love is a noble and worthy cause,” he scolded. “Why would you seek to deny our shield brother that?” 

“Woah, it's three dates,” Tony protested. “Well, three and a half...plus coffee. If coffee counts. Any any rate, it's too early to be dropping the 'l' word.” 

“Seriously, what can I do if I can't make fun of your slutty ways anymore?” Clint asked sulkily. “I'll need to move on to making fun of your height instead. You think I haven't noticed you're a good four inches taller in the suit? I know the armour isn't that thick. What, did you put lifts in that thing?” 

Tony scowled. “JARVIS, initiate program four, delta, epsilon,” he said loudly. 

“Of course, sir,” the AI said smoothly.

“Wait,” Clint's eyes were wide. “What did you do?” 

“You'll find out,” Tony said smugly.

“No, really, what did you do?” Clint demanded. 

Tony smirked. “Don't be surprised if from now on when you go through doors the Robin Hood theme starts playing.” 

“ _What_?” Clint exclaimed. “Shit. Just in the tower, right?” 

“Mostly in the tower,” Tony said with a shrug. “Also in the helicarrier, in some shops, and a few other places. I forget the details.” 

“You can't do that.” Clint turned to the rest of them. “Tell him he can't do that.” 

Steve leaned back and laughed as he watched the ensuing argument fondly. It was playful, not prickly. For the first time in a while, there was no bite behind the words.

Later, he took the chance to talk to Tony in private. “I'm glad you've found someone,” he said sincerely. “You seem to have calmed down. I guess this girl is a good influence on you.” 

Tony looked at him thoughtfully. “He's not a girl.” 

“Oh!” Steve blinked, not quite sure why he was surprised. He supposed he had thought that when it came to actual romance, Tony would go for a girl. “Oh, well, I guess he's a good influence on you. It seems you're better in a relationship.” He winced; that had come out wrong. 

But Tony just nodded. “Thanks, Steve. I've got to go. I got to finish the schematics for the new reactor before I meet Mark for drinks later.” 

“You should bring him over at some point,” Steve called after him as he walked away. If this guy was good for Tony, then Steve wanted to be as encouraging and supportive as possible.

*

It was their fourth date – or fourth and a half, if you wanted to count the night they'd met – and Mark had taken him out to a little Italian restaurant near his place. It was nice, and not the sort of place he would usually eat. His regular hangouts tended to be either unbelievably expensive and exclusive, or cheap diners and hole-in-the-wall eateries where everything came with a thick layer of grease. But Mark seemed to prefer to pay and to choose where they went, and that was enough of a novelty that he was content to show up where and when he was told. Most of his previous dates had expected him to arrange – pay for – everything, and Pepper had liked consensus. So now he was in a new world of restaurants that that did have a wine list but it was only a page at the back of the regular menu. It was all new to him. 

He'd tried to explain that to Mark, but Mark had just laughed and shook his head. “Welcome to the real world, Tony.” 

One good thing about this kind of place was that no one expected him to eat here. The press had been all over this new relationship. A couple of the late night shows had set up odds on how long it was going to last, and just how he was going to make everything crash and burn. The odds on favourite involved cocaine, a fast jet and Vegas hookers dressed in Iron Man costumes. He'd been with Mark the night they'd shown that and he'd seen the way Mark's jaw clenched. 

Everyone seemed to think he should be in a relationship – this relationship – but no one seemed to think he could make it work. And truthfully, neither did he. He knew full well he was a fuck up, but he wasn't going to give up without trying, and he certainly wasn't planning on letting it end with cheap hookers in latex armour.

Dinner was good – he could see why Mark liked this place – and they talked a little about family and Mark's sister's kid in particular.

“She's a massive Avengers fan, particularly Iron Man,” he explained, leaning over the table. “She must have at least four Iron Man dolls, and a plushie. At least she has good taste. You can fly. Who wouldn't want that?” 

Tony preened. “Well, I am awesome,” he admitted. Then he frowned. “Wait, they're making plushies now?” 

Mark laughed. “I'll get you one,” he promised. “They don't fly though.” 

“I could fix that,” Tony shrugged. 

“What's it like?” Mark asked curiously. 

“Flying?” He paused, thinking. “It's amazing. It's nothing like being in a plane. It It feels so free.” He hesitated. “Maybe I'll take you up some time. The suit's okay to carry passengers, as long as I don't go too high or too fast.” 

“Gotta say, no one's ever made me that offer before,” Mark smiled.

Tony was about to make a whole different offer when his phone suddenly started ringing. He sighed. “Sorry, I got to take this. It's Pepper.” 

Mark frowned. “Don't answer,” he said tersely. 

He grimaced, he supposed he could understand Mark feeling a bit jealous. “It's not....I asked her to call. It's important. We've got a problem with our European distribution branch. We could be looking at a product recall.” 

“Don't. Answer. It,” Mark repeated, his face thunderous. 

“I have to,” Tony said with an apologetic shrug that wasn't that apologetic. “I'll be back as soon as I can.” 

Luckily the call didn't last long and it was all business until the end. Though honestly, most of their conversations were these days. They were talking about products that hadn't gone on general sale yet, and the problem was relatively minor. It was still going to hurt their reputation though. The share price would fall; he'd have to come up with something innovative in the next few weeks to balance it out. 

They were trying to stay professional, but he was still hung from the way Mark had talked to him, and she had always been good at reading him. “Tony, what's wrong?” she asked as they were finishing up. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. He sighed, weighing up his options for a moment before deciding to take the plunge. “I was on a date.” 

“Oh.” Her voice was small and the subsequent silence stretched out for an uncomfortable moment. “Well, that's great,” she said at last brightly. “Is it the same guy as before? I saw the pictures.” 

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly. “His name's Mark.” 

“He looked nice,” Pepper told him. “You should get back to him. Tell him I'm sorry to disturb the two of you.” She had that brittle tone in her voice that meant she was unhappy and trying her best to hide it.

She had left him. Why was she upset that he was moving on? Except he still wanted her to be happy more than anything else. “Pepper - “

“ - go, Tony,” she interrupted. “Go enjoy yourself. I'll talk to you later.” She hung up. He stared at the phone for a second before heading back to the table.

“That's everything sorted,” he started to say breezily before he saw the way Mark was staring at him coldly across the table. 

“Are you sure?” he asked pointedly. “I mean, I would want our date to get in the way of you talking to your ex girlfriend.” 

“I told you, it was important,” Tony reminded him. “Product recalls don't happen very often and they're a big deal.” 

“Stop pretending to be so reasonable,” Mark snapped. “That doesn't mean it had to be dealt with right now. And surely you could have that sort of conversation by email, or through your staff or whatever. There was no need to interrupt _our dinner_. When I'm with you, I want you to be paying attention to _me_. Is that really so much to ask?” 

It shouldn't, be, he knew. And he supposed he could see Mark's point. He could have just waited until Pepper dropped him an email, it was just that he'd rather know what was happening 

“God, you're so selfish,” Mark burst out when he didn't say anything, his voice just a little too loud in the crowded restaurant. Thankfully no one seemed to be paying too much attention. He already wanted to sink through the floor. When he caused a scene, he wanted it to be his scene. “I know you think you're the centre of the universe, but spare us lesser mortals a thought every now and then, huh?” 

“It was one phonecall,” he protested. “I took less than five minutes. We still have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

“That's not the point,” Mark glared. “I just don't believe you sometimes. She's the CEO right? Surely that means you don't have much to do with the day to day running of the company.” 

He blinked. “Uh, I still own it,” he pointed out. “My name's still on everything we make. I like to keep up to date.” 

“With the company?” Mark asked snidely. “Or with Pepper? You said you asked her to call. Have you even considered how that must look to her? You're sniffing around your ex and it's pathetic. Jesus, Tony, grow a pair, can't you?” 

“What?!” He didn't understand where this was coming from. “No, it's not like that.” It wasn't, was it? Was it possible he was subconsciously making up excuses to talk to Pepper? He did miss her. They'd been together for so long before they were ever together, and now he never saw her and barely spoke to her. “I've moved on,” he said weakly. 

Mark's lip curled. “If you say so,” he said. Let's not argue, okay? The waiter came by when you were gone. I ordered you the bruschetta and the seafood linguine. You'll love it.” 

“I don't like - “ he started to say, but stopped at Mark's irritated glance. Right. Not arguing. He took a deep breath and reminded himself it wasn't worth it. Afghanistan had pretty much cured him of being precious over food anyway. He'd known exactly what had gone into his sporadic meals there, because they'd taken great pleasure in telling him, and after a while he hadn't even needed to fight down his gag reflex. “That's fine,” he said instead. “Thank you.” 

“We can always call the waiter back and change it,” Mark offered guiltily. “I'm sure they won't mind.” 

“Nah, it really is fine,” he said with a cautious smile. “It's good to try new things, right?” 

They talked for a while about less dangerous territory. There were talks about a movie coming out based on the battle of New York, and apparently Johnny Depp was in negotiations to play Loki, which was just the sort of casting that made Tony's head hurt. 

“What was he like?” Mark asked in a whisper. “Close up, I mean?” 

Tony thought back to those moments in the penthouse. “Crazy,” he said honestly. “I mean, powerful as hell, but when you got close up you could see the bag of squirrels squirming behind his eyes. He wanted to take over the world, but I'm not so sure he had any kind of thought on what happened next.” 

“Huh.” Mark sat back and looked at him steadily. “You know, every now and then, I remember that I'm fucking someone who went toe-to-toe with an actual god.”

“I'm not sure he's actually a god,” Tony said with a shrug. “But it's two, actually, if you want to think about it that way. Me and Thor went a couple of rounds before we got things straightened out.” 

“Still.” Mark said slowly. “I like it. Makes me feel powerful.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smirked. “You like that feeling, you should come along to one of our training sessions some time. Watch me spar with Cap and Thor.” 

“That's if I ever get an invite inside the tower, right?” Mark asked lightly. 

He hesitated. “Sorry. It's not just up to me,” he offered. Except it pretty much was, and it was certainly him that wasn't quite sure if he was ready to invite someone into the bed he and Pepper had shared. It was easier keeping Mark on the outside. He just knew it wasn't fair. 

They ate in silence for a while and gradually he became aware of Mark staring at him contemplatively. “Would you tell me why Pepper dumped you? Do you think maybe you were too needy for her? Because you can be very selfish.” 

His mouth hung open for a moment. He knew that people normally talked about their previous relationships at some point, but that seemed completely out of left field. 

“Sorry,” Mark said tightly. “That was a little more blunt than I intended. I was just thinking...everything always has to be on your terms, you notice that?” 

He remembered times when he'd woken Pepper up at some ungodly hour because he'd made something and wanted her to see it immediately, and other times when he'd cling to her for hours after the nightmares woke him up. Pepper said she'd left him because she wasn't strong enough to take the constant danger and worry. Maybe she would have felt stronger if he hadn't been so...needy.   
He shook his head. “I don't want to talk about that,” he said, his voice steady with a noticeable effort. “Please.” 

 

Mark's eyes softened. little “Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. This isn't the time or place. You just make me crazy sometimes, that's all. Just...don't take any more calls from your exes while we're together.”

“You jealous?” he asked, trying to sound seductive and succeeding in sounding tentative. “Because you don't need to be. Me and Pepper are over.” Nothing left there but the heartbreak.

“I know,” Mark said with a shrug. “But it doesn't change the way I feel. I'm a man, I can't help it. It's bad enough that whenever we're together I know I'm sharing you with half of New York. It's like boldly going where everyone has been before, you know?” He laughed.

Tony didn't.

“What's the matter?” Mark frowned, catching his eye. “That was a Star Trek joke. You love Star Trek jokes.” 

“We met because you pick up strangers in bars,” Tony pointed out coldly. “You're not exactly pure as the driven snow yourself.” 

Mark shrugged, still laughing. “Yeah, well, there aren't websites dedicated to tracking my sexual exploits. Face it, Tony, you're a complete whore and everyone knows it. Luckily, I don't mind. Just that sometimes when I think about your past I get the urge to hold you down and pour bleach all over you. Joking, joking,” he added quickly, holding his hands up appeasingly. 

Right. And somehow he found that even less funny than the Star Trek joke. Thing was, he felt like if he said anything he'd come across as over-sensitive, or worse, ashamed. And he wasn't ashamed of his past; like he'd said to Steve, he liked sex. But he knew other people didn't see it that way. All the practice that made him a fantastic proposition for a one night stand made him a lousy prospective partner. If Mark didn't mind, he should embrace that, even if it came with a side of inappropriate humour. After all, inappropriate humour was _his_ thing. He should be able to take it as well as dish it out.

“Funny,” he said lightly. He still felt uncomfortable about a lot of what Mark had said, but there wasn't really anything he could point at and say that was wrong. He was a lot to put up with. And he hadn't worked hard enough to keep his relationship with Pepper alive, he was damned if he was going to screw this up before it even got started. He could take some constructive criticism. “And I promise. No more calls from Pepper during dates.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, his eyes warm. “See? I knew there was a good person there somewhere.” 

Tony knew he wasn't a good person. But he was _trying_ and no matter the circumstances, it always felt good hearing someone else acknowledge that.

Unfortunately right at that moment his phone played a loud alarm. He reached for it automatically, and Mark's eyes grew frosty. 

“It's not Pepper,” he explained tersely, already reading the message and watching the accompanying video footage. He glanced across the table. “Someone's been creating smog monsters in Detroit. Now, I'm inclined to say it's Detroit, and no one will notice, but Cap's pretty sure the situation needs the Avengers.” 

He was babbling slightly, he knew. He'd seen how angry Mark was that he'd taken a call. He couldn't imagine actually ditching him altogether was going to go down well. But to his surprise, Mark just nodded calmly and stood up. “The suitcase armour's in the back of the car, right?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Tony agreed, caught off guard. 

“Okay then,” Mark said, gathering up their coats. “Go. I'll settle everything up here.”

He was so accepting. There wasn't a trace left of the anger or the hurt and jealousy. Tony felt a hundred times lighter. “Thanks,” he said with a crooked smile.

Mark grinned. “I'll be watching on the news. Be careful And if you can't be careful, be amazing.” 

“Hey, I'm always amazing,” he threw back as he jogged out of the restaurant. Suddenly he was feeling in a far better mood to go save Detroit.

*

Natasha couldn't help but feel amused at the situation. They were all gathered in the lounge, trying their best to look casual while they waited for Tony and Mark. Of course, the situation was actually far from casual. There was far less junk lying around for a start, and Steve was actually wearing a tie.

“We should have made dinner,” he fretted.

Natasha looked at him. “Tony said they're going out to dinner after the movie premiere,” she reminded him. “This is supposed to be a quick 'hi' before they go out. Why does it matter to you?” 

“I want us to make a good first impression,” Steve said simply.

“The guy's met Stark and he didn't run away screaming,” Clint pointed out from his perch on the back of the sofa. “I think we can assume he's immune to first impressions.” 

But Natasha understood where Steve was coming from. Stark was undoubtedly much more settled and productive when he was in a committed relationship, and that was the version of Tony Stark that was an asset to the team. It therefore behoved them to do everything in their power to ensure the success of this relationship, and that wasn't even taking into account the regrettably sentimental fact that she actually liked Stark well enough to prefer that he was happy. She rather imagined that was Steve's main reasoning. For such a brilliant tactical thinker, he was amazingly straightforwards sometimes, but she liked that about him.

“See, this is why I never bring anyone home,” Clint went on.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That's not the reason.” 

“I cannot help but wonder,” Thor remarked from his place making the second sofa look tiny. “If this nervousness was present before you all met my lady Jane?” 

“Uh, not really,” Dr Banner said dryly. “You just showed up with her and then the pair of you vanished into your room for forty six hours. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it does sort of change the meaning of the first meeting awkwardness.” 

Thor shrugged. “It had been many days since I had enjoyed the wonder of her embrace.” 

“Oh, no one was objecting,” Clint reassured him. “We just got to wondering if we should be sending up food. And gatorade.” 

“Anthony did,” Thor said brightly. “It was most appreciated.” 

Natasha bit her lip. The trouble was, she had no idea whether that was a nice gesture on Stark's part or a mocking one. It was very difficult to make out his motivations, even for her. She suspected he didn't know why he did things half the time.

The door swung open and Tony walked in, followed by another man Natasha assumed to be Mark. Under the guise of a welcoming smile, she looked him over critically. Tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed – so far so fairytale. Handsome, of course, but she wouldn't expect anything else from Stark. Around Stark's own age, give or take, which was a relief – at least this sudden shift in sexual orientation wasn't some midlife crisis. Well built, but then the basic background check she'd ran had mentioned he was an FBI agent. She hadn't dug too deep into his history – she no more cared who Stark's boyfriend slept with than she cared who Stark himself slept with. But she wanted to know that he wasn't affiliated with any known enemies of SHIELD, the Avengers or Stark Industries, and that he didn't have any criminal convictions. After all, this was going to involve him knowing their civilian names, which might be very far from the best kept secret she'd ever had, but she still didn't want them broadcast everywhere.

“Mark, I guess you know everyone by sight, but this is Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Thor,” Tony announced breezily. “Guys, this is Mark. Try not to traumatise him.” 

There was a chorus of hellos, and Steve stepped forwards to shake Mark's hand. “It's swell to finally meet you,” he said,” he said, and Natasha hid the smirk. In social situations where he felt uncomfortable Steve's vocabulary tended to jump back seventy years.

“It's an honour to meet you,” Mark said, sounding sincere as he shook Steve's hand. “Though I've got to admit, seeing Captain America in a tie is odd.” 

“You're just disappointed he isn't wearing the tights,” Tony smirked.

The remark was inappropriate, but not so much as to make Steve do more than laugh and shake his head at Tony. Natasha supposed he'd probably heard every remark about the uniform imaginable. 

But she'd been watching Mark and just for a second there was an ugly, angry look in his eyes. It barely lasted any time at all – so much so that if she'd been anyone else she'd probably have thought she might have imagined it. But she hadn't, and for a moment she was slightly concerned until she realised that Tony had twisted slightly, angling his body towards Mark's, his body language relaxed and reassuring. Clearly he'd noticed the anger as well and didn't see anything to worry about. Well, if he wasn't concerned, there was no need for her to be. 

The next half hour or so passed quickly, thankfully. Natasha did not particularly enjoy making conversation with strangers as herself. But at least the others were more than capable of carrying a conversation. They talked a little about Mark's work, and at least an FBI agent was something Natasha could understand. She'd asked Dr Foster about her work and been lost inside a minute. And then the conversation moved to life on Asgard, which was basically inevitable – anyone meeting Thor for the first time always wanted to know what life was like on another world. But somehow Thor's description of a particular metal found there sparked something in Tony, and soon he was talking a mile a minute about the potential applications, and how if what Thor said was accurate it could completely revolutionise circuit board designs and make computers run one thousand percent faster. 

“Shut up, Tony,” Mark said after a couple of minutes. Natasha narrowed her eyes. He was smiling, but his tone was completely serious and there was something in it that suggested that he expected to be obeyed. And he was.

Clint laughed. “Huh. Do you think you could do that on missions?” 

After all, Natasha had heard Pepper tell Tony to be quiet in similar circumstances. Though her voice had been full of exasperated affection. But perhaps this was simply something Stark needed from relationships. As Clint said, it was difficult to get him to shut up any other way, and she remembered her conjecture about Stark's one night stands. Maybe someone else had to take control.

Exasperated affection or a need for discipline. What was she missing here? 

*

This would be the tenth night they'd spent together, not that Tony was counting. But it was the first night they'd spent together at the tower, and for some reason that made him a little nervous. Nervous was not really a feeling he was used to, and he didn't care for it much. He didn't even know why. But Mark was here in his space, inspecting every inch of the penthouse curiously, and Tony stood and watched as he ran his hands over the piano, eyed up the pile of computers, tablets and wires that he really should have cleared up, and casually opened his desk drawers, dismissing the contents with a glance.

They were supposed to be a couple now, he reminded himself. This was normal, he knew that. Pepper had hated how possessive he could get. Everything they'd owned had been his. Twelve percent of the tower was hers, but she'd deserved more. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice, so he didn't say anything. 

“You really don't live in the real world, do you?” Mark asked, shaking his head in amazement. 

“Well, I live with an alien god, a big green rage monster and a super hero from the forties, so no, I'm not sure how much 'real' comes into it,” Tony answered flippantly. 

Mark looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about you. Take this sofa. How much did it cost? Do you even know?” 

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I pay someone to pick stuff out. I didn't know you were into interior design. Way to avoid being stereotypical.” 

“A family could probably pay their rent for a year with what this costs,” Mark told him disapprovingly.

“Well, that's New York rent control for you,” he said with another shrug. This was stupid. Yes, he was ridiculously rich. Mark had known that going in. Did he really expect him not to spend it? He supposed at least Mark obviously wasn't after his money. That was something, right? 

Mark gave him a disappointed look. “You're a spoilt brat, Tony,” he said matter-of-factly. “You have no idea what it's like to struggle to pay rent, or to go hungry. You ever think that's why you can't relate to people?” He walked past Tony and reached out towards the Mark 7 that was standing on display or on guard in the corner. 

“Don't touch that,” Tony snapped before he could help himself. 

Mark froze and with exaggerated movements took a step back. “Sorry,” he drawled sarcastically. “Jeez, are you always like this in here? I can see why your 'friends' are so annoyed with you.” 

That really derailed his train of thought. “What? No they're not.” 

“You haven't even noticed,” Mark said with a sigh. “Why am I not surprised?” You can't blame them if this is how you normally act – all _'this is my stuff and my tower and you can't touch it.'_ It must get annoying. Like a five year old with a candy bar.” 

“Uh, it is my stuff,” Tony pointed out. 

Mark rolled his eyes. “Like I said. Annoying. Tony, selfishness is never an attractive quality. You need to tone it down or your friends will get sick of you pretty quickly.” 

He scoffed. “Right. And I'm going to take that from someone who only just met them tonight? I think I know them better than you do.” 

“Oh, Tony,” Mark sighed. “You're very good with machines, but can you really say dealing with people is your thing?” 

It wasn't, of course. And the anger had died away from Mark's voice leaving only cold compassion and he struggled to think that Mark was being unfair. They weren't really that annoyed with him, were they? They would have said something. Except they had said something....but he thought he'd changed. What if it wasn't enough? 

“No,” he answered tersely, shaking his head. “But that doesn't mean - “

“ - I'm an FBI agent, Tony,” Mark reminded him. “I'm good at reading people. That's what I do. Their body language tells me everything I need to know. And besides, there have been plenty of interviews with the Avengers and it's all there, in black and white.” 

“Yeah, I think if any of those interviews had said _'I don't like Tony Stark'_ I would have heard about it by now,” he pointed out. 

Mark looked at him and bit his lip. “I don't know if I should say this. I mean, if you haven't noticed, it's not really my place to - “

“ - What?” Tony demanded. What had he missed? 

“You're barely mentioned in those interviews,” Mark explained gently. “They're full of praise for Iron Man. Tony Stark is an afterthought.” 

He almost laughed. “I am Iron Man,” he declared. 

“To you, yes,” Mark agreed. “But let's be honest; Iron Man is just tech. Brilliant tech, but nothing more than that. It's the person flying it which matters to the public – to your team – and that could be almost anyone.” 

“But it's me,” Tony snarled. Natasha and Fury's voices echoing in his head. Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended. Was that what everyone thought? “It's always been me.”

“But it doesn't have to be,” Mark answered swiftly. “I'm just saying, to the average Joe it doesn't matter who _built_ something as long as it's useful. No one cares, I mean do you really think anyone knows who built Captain America's shield, or Hawkeye's bow?” 

“My father built the shield,” Tony said automatically. “And I built the bow Hawkeye's using at the moment. His last one got eaten by a dragon.” 

“No one knows that though, Tony. No one care's, that's my point. But everyone knows who built the Iron Man suit and this tower, because you never shut up about it. And that's what's annoying. That's what turns people off about you.” 

He felt like he was losing ground here and he didn't even know exactly what they were fighting about. “I do make things though,” he tried. “What's wrong with being proud of my work?” He closed his eyes. “How'd we get onto this anyway?” he asked, bewildered. “I thought we were having a nice evening?” Everything had been normal at dinner, and they'd enjoyed the movie.

“We were,” Mark said at once. “And then we got back here and you immediately started getting weird and selfish.” He hesitated. “Do you just not like me in your space?” he asked in a rush.

“It's not that,” Tony reassured him at once. “I don't know. I guess I'm just being weird, I'm sorry.” He didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong, but he often felt that way, even when the rest of the world disagreed. Everyone said Mark was good for him. 

“Hey,” Mark said gently. “Don't get upset, okay? I'm just saying this stuff for your own good. You really have your head shoved up your own ass sometimes, that's all. And if anything should be stuck up your ass....” 

Tony managed a reluctant laugh.

“I want to help you,” Mark went on earnestly, crossing the room and laying his hands on Tony's upper arms, gripping lightly like he wasn't sure if he wanted to embrace him or shake him. “I know you could be so much better than this.” 

“Some days it doesn't feel like I could be much worse,” he said with a crooked smile. He didn't know what to think. On the one hand, Mark sounded sincere, and some of the things he said made sense, but on the other hand...on the other hand, what? He didn't like hearing them? Wasn't that sort of the definition of uncomfortable truth? He already knew he was selfish and vain and arrogant. But Pepper had known that too, and she'd never have talked to him like that. She'd never have made him feel so shitty. But then, maybe if she had been a little more straightforward and honest about her feelings he would have been able to improve, and things would have been different. 

He didn't know. But Mark was looking at him expectantly, his eyes gentle and hopeful, and what else was Tony supposed to do? Kick him out for saying what he thought? 

With a sigh, he leaned forwards, resting his head on Mark's shoulder. “Okay,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “I'll try.” 

“That's all I ask,” Mark said, rubbing his thumb roughly down the side of Tony's face. “Now, why don't we go through to the bedroom and you can show me just how unselfish you can be.” 

He really wasn't in the mood, for once. But it was like Mark said. Sometimes it was more important not to be selfish, and he resolved to go out of his way to rock Mark's world. 

*

That wasn't the last argument they had. Over the next few weeks, Tony discovered that there were more ways than even _he'd_ imagined in which he was selfish and inconsiderate, and Mark veered between anger and frustration, and gentle patience. 

He didn't know how to react. So much of what Mark said chimed in exactly with all the dark, self-loathing thoughts in his head, and after a while he found it difficult to even try arguing, especially when everyone else seemed to agree with Mark. He was an arrogant self-centred asshole, a careless and insensitive lover, and an all around worthless person and he knew all that. Mark just wanted to help him be better. But at the same time, he didn't feel like he was getting better. Every time Mark pointed out another of his flaws, or told him how much he was irritating the people around him, he felt worse, and he found himself watching the others anxiously, wondering what effect he was having on them.

He hated that. He hated second guessing himself and when Steve gave him a warm smile during a training session and complimented him on how much more focused he'd been lately, and teasingly asked if that was Mark's influence, he had to bite down on his anger. Maybe it was, but was there no way anyone thought he could be a better person on his own? Was that completely out of the question? 

Later that night, after a couple of hours spent sitting in the dark, brooding and drinking forty year-old whisky from the bottle, he headed round to Mark's place. 

“You've been drinking,” Mark frowned as he let him in.

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Little bit. You still got that wine in the fridge?” 

“Is something wrong, Tony?” Mark asked, as he wandered past him into the kitchen. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He didn't answer. He didn't want to talk about anything. “D'you want a glass”? 

Mark took a step forwards and put a warning hand on the fridge. “You don't need another drink. What's wrong?” 

“Everyone thinks you're good for me,” Tony said, staring at him. “Everyone thinks you're going to make me a better person.” 

“Well that's good, isn't it?” Mark smiled. “Your boyfriend _should_ make you a better person. I'm certainly going to try.” 

“And when do I get to change you?” Tony snapped. 

Mark sighed with exaggerated patience. “What do you think I need to change about myself? Really, I want to know, because I'll certainly take anything a belligerent drunk says into consideration.” 

“Well, maybe you can stop being so fucking patronising, for a start,” he spat. 

“I'm going to ignore that,” Mark told him coldly, walking past him towards the sink. “God, Tony, you get so stupid when you're drunk. Here, I'll get you a glass of water and you can sit down and try and sober up.” 

He took advantage of the moment to reach into the fridge and grab the wine bottle.

“Put that down!” Mark ordered harshly. 

“No,” he said with a victorious smile, tilting the bottle back towards his mouth. Mark stormed across the kitchen and grabbed it out of his hands. “Hey!” he protested, trying to snatch it back.

He saw the fist coming. He just didn't quite believe it until he was already on the floor, sat on his ass and staring up at Mark in numb confusion, the pain blooming in his face. 

“You hit me,” he said, bewildered. “You hit me.” 

Mark was just standing there, looking down at him, a strange mix of irritation and satisfaction on his face, and Tony felt the reality of the situation slipping away from him. He would have known how to react if Mark had been shocked, or remorseful, but Mark was just looking at him like nothing was wrong. 

“Get up, Tony,” Mark said with a sigh, holding out a hand to help him. “You're alright. I barely touched you.” 

Tony shook his head and scrambled to his feet on his own, staying well clear of Mark. “You're not supposed to hit me,” he said, and he sounded too uncertain. He pressed his hand against his face and already his eye was almost swollen shut.

“I only hit you because you were being unreasonable,” Mark said gently. “When you drink like this, you're hurting yourself and you're hurting me, not to mention your friends.” He sounded sincere and disappointed, and Tony felt ashamed. “Come on, now. Sit down and I'll put some ice on it. Let me take care of you, Tony.” He reached out as if to take Tony's hand, and Tony flinched away. 

The look of hurt on Mark's face was almost unbearable. It made him feel like a complete bastard.

This was still wrong, wasn't it? No matter how stupid he was being, no matter what he'd done, Mark still wasn't supposed to hurt him. So why was he the one feeling guilty? 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I'm leaving. I don't know if I can do this. Don't call me.” 

He headed for the door. Mark didn't try to stop him. He couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed. 

*

The latest round of experiments was going well, and part of Bruce was desperately clamouring to move onto human testing as soon as possible. He wasn't going to though; he'd well and truly learned that lesson. His current situation was pretty good, after all. He had somewhere to call home, friends who trusted him, space to work and all the resources he could possibly imagine, and he didn't have to keep looking over his shoulder to see who was coming after him. There was a lot he could make worse here. But still, there was a lot he could make better, and he really thought if these experiments worked, he could alter the nature of the transformation slightly, and removing the pain and trauma was bound to make the other guy calmer, and that would make him more useful to the Avengers.

At any rate, he was very busy and he was a little annoyed when, right when he was watching for a spike in radiation from sample X329, he heard the door open behind him and footsteps stumble in.

He didn't look round. Yes, he could always look back at the results from the monitoring equipment, but this was important and he wanted the answers as soon as possible. 

“Uh, hi,” Tony's voice said quietly. “You're busy, aren't you?” 

He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. This wasn't what he wanted to deal with right now. Just doing this experiment had him on edge, and he would swear he could feel the other guy stomping around beneath his skin. But Tony was his friend, and Tony had been very good to him, and he wasn't going to turn him away. “What's wrong?” 

“I had a....fight....with Mark,” Tony said, sounding hesitant and ashamed. 

Of course it would be something like that. Tony's grasp on relationships was somewhere around a high school junior level. “Have you apologised?” he asked. 

There was a brief silence. “No-o,” Tony said slowly. “Why should....why do you think it's my fault?” 

“Experience,” he said lightly, but Tony wasn't laughing. He frowned, about to turn round and give the conversation his full attention when a sudden movement on screen took his attention. What the hell? That wasn't a spike, it was a wave. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. “Well, what was the fight about?” he asked absently, his mind running a mile a minute. 

“He didn't want me drinking,” Tony told him.

What? 

Unconsciously, he clenched his fists around the edge of the bench. “You've been drinking?” he said slowly. “You've been drinking and you came in here?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Tony swore. “I forgot. Sorry.” 

The anger was whispering through Bruce's head. “It's the one thing I asked you, Tony,” he said, his voice rising. “Don't come in here when you're drunk. How hard is that? You're so irresponsible!” 

“Bruce...” He could hear Tony shifting uneasily. He didn't look round. He didn't dare look round. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was staring down at his hands and there was the faintest tinge of green spreading out from his veins. Not now. Not here. Not when he might risk hurting Tony. Tony was irresponsible, but he'd never deserve that.

“Get out,” he said hoarsely. “ _Quickly_. Please.” 

There was an agonising moment of hesitation, and then he heard the door open and close as Tony walked away. Thank God. 

He took some deep breaths, and kept his eyes closed until he was calm and the other guy had faded into the background. That had been too close. He'd need to track Tony down and apologise, later when Tony would be sober and he could be more certain of his control. It wasn't even Tony's fault, really. Bruce's issues with alcohol had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Bruce's father, and he already knew Tony was nothing like him. Tony didn't hurt people when he was drunk, not like that anyway. 

It was funny. When Bruce wasn't in control, Tony still liked and trusted him, but somehow Bruce couldn't do the same. It made him feel like a lousy friend. 

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the monitor. If he couldn't be a good friend, he could at least work on being a better team mate.

*

He'd managed to find his way back to his workshop, despite the fact that he was shaking. He sat slumped against the door, his knees drawn up to his chest. “JARVIS, has Hulk made an appearance?” he managed to ask hoarsely. 

“No, sir,” JARVIS told him comfortingly. “Dr Banner is currently still in his laboratory, checking the results of his experiment.” 

Oh. “That's good,” he said, pressing his hand against his eye. It hurt, and he could feel the blood oozing against his fingers. Bruce hadn't seen that, though. He might have reacted differently if he had, but then he'd been so angry at Tony drinking that he didn't even know anymore. 

“Sir?” JARVIS asked hesitantly. “What happened to you?” 

Maybe this really was his fault. He could admit that he'd been behaving badly, and if it was enough to make Bruce worry about hulking out, maybe one little punch wasn't too much to complain about. And now he just felt ashamed of everything. He wasn't angry with Bruce, so why should he be angry with Mark?

“I fell,” he said, testing out the lie. “Against some railings. Because I'd been drinking.” 

“Sir, I really would prefer if you didn't lie to me,” JARVIS told him, but his voice was gentle and Dummy brought him over an ice pack, and Tony felt his eyes prickle. 

“Don't ask,” he said quietly, taking the ice pack and pressing it to his face. “Please.” 

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS said, and You brought him over a blanket from the sofa and pressed it hopefully against his chest. 

What was wrong with him? Why was it the only people on his side were the ones he had created to be on his side? 

Maybe it was because he was in the wrong. Always. Enough that Bruce assumed that he should be the one apologising, and maybe that meant that he should be. 

He had showed up to Mark's place drunk. That was wrong. And he'd sworn at him and said some unpleasant things, and insisted on drinking more even when Mark had asked him not to. That was enough to make anyone mad, right? And Mark had just hit him once, just enough to make him stop, and he'd been going to take care of Tony afterwards, before Tony had stormed out, anyway. He was starting to feel like he'd overreacted.

Suppose Mark thought they were over? This was a stupid way for things to end, wasn't it? It was one mistake, and he'd provoked it.

He sighed and let the ice pack fall, reaching into his pocket for his phone. It was a long moment before he dialled Mark's number, and an even longer moment before Mark picked up. 

“Tony,” Mark said in measured tones. “How are you feeling?” 

“Lousy,” he admitted tersely. “I shouldn't have got drunk like that.” 

“No you shouldn't,” Mark told him. “But Tony, I was more worried when you left. You can't do that. If we have problems, we need to talk about them like responsible adults.” 

That sounded so close to what Pepper might have said that he couldn't help the flinch. This was his fault, wasn't it? “You can't hit me,” he said abruptly. 

“I don't want to hit you,” Mark answered patiently. “But Tony, you're out of control. You need to work on that, babe, or else I don't want to be around you anymore.” 

No! He felt a stab of fear. He didn't want to have fucked this up like he fucked up everything else. “I'm sorry,” he said frantically. “I can do better, I swear it. Give me another chance.” 

“I don't know, Tony,” Mark said doubtfully. “Let's face it, you're a lot of work.” 

He was, and he knew it. And right now, he didn't even think he could truthfully say he was worth it. “I'm sorry,” he said again miserably, as loneliness loomed before him again. 

Mark sighed. “Alright,” he said. “I forgive you.” His voice grew warm. “Let's face it, I can't stay mad at you for long.” 

The words weren't enough. He still felt anxious and alone, and he wanted to prove to Mark that he could be better. “Can I come over?” he asked in a rush. “I really need to see you.” 

“Well....” Mark hesitated for a long moment, and – unfairly – Tony wondered if he was enjoying this. “Alright.” 

He closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and he hated the gratitude in his voice. “I'll see you soon.” 

He hung up and got to his feet, Dummy making an unhappy chirping noise as the blanket fell across his treads. 

“Sir, are you sure this is wise?” JARVIS asked him cautiously. 

He caught sight of his reflection in the glass. His face was distorted, ugly, swollen and purple. This wasn't wise, but it was what he wanted, and it was what was good for him. Wasn't it?


	3. Accepting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets worse. A lot worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really have said this before now, but this isn't compliant with Agents of SHIELD or Iron Man 3, despite the fact I like both of those.

Tony had a plan. Well. It wasn't really a plan, it was more of an intention. He wasn't going to be hit again. He was going to be clear and firm, and he wasn't going to let Mark walk all over him. If Mark raised a hand to him, he would defend himself and he'd tell him that he wasn't going to take it. Simple enough, right? 

The problem was, he didn't know where the line was. Weeks went by, and Mark didn't even suggest that he wanted to hurt Tony, but there were these moments....a reproving kick under the table when he was talking too much. A sort of playful shove when he didn't want to go out. His arm being grabbed when he said something obnoxious. His face being lightly slapped when he fell asleep on the sofa. He honestly didn't know if any of that was inappropriate. It didn't seem too far beyond what he saw in other people's relationships, and making a stand just seemed ridiculous. How could you say that a shove was worth making a fuss over? He doubted he'd think anything of it if Mark hadn't hit him that once. 

What's more, after all those little....correctional moments....Mark got really affectionate, which he liked more than he ever thought he would. Just touching, or cuddling wasn't something he'd had a whole lot of experience of in his life – even Pepper hadn't been a cuddler, and most other people just wanted sex from him and nothing else. Somehow, all this affection made him feel warm inside. It was harder to object to anything Mark said when he felt so cared for. He felt himself relaxing into the relationship. This wasn't so bad. He didn't have anything to be nervous about. 

So it was almost a shock when it happened again. It started simply enough. Mark was in the shower, and Tony was left to make breakfast for the pair of them. Made sense; after all, Mark was the one with a productive job he had to actually show up for. They were at Mark's place, which was getting to be unusual. Mark still teased him about the amount of money he wasted, and all the useless luxury, but somehow they still ended up staying at the tower. He supposed it was a way of showing Mark that he didn't mind having him in his space. Plus, it made it easier for him to spoil Mark without him really noticing. It was natural for him to buy dinner, or presents, or whatever while they were living together. 

Barefoot, and dressed in Mark's robe, he wandered into the kitchen, stuck some breakfast on and went to the coffee machine. Huh. It seemed to be broken. With a frown, he started taking it apart. For him, it was an automatic response, though it seemed like an easy enough fix; just some loose wiring. Plus there were a lot of flaws in this design, and he was pretty sure he could get the temperature regulator more precise, and improve the filtering system at the very least. He smiled; there were so many things he failed at, but he could always fix tech problems, and this was something nice he could do for Mark. Something that would show how thoughtful he could be. 

He gave the coffee machine his full attention, and he didn't hear the bathroom door open until Mark was standing directly behind him.

“What are you doing?” Mark demanded angrily. 

He jumped and turned around, parts of the coffee machine still in his hand. “Fixing your coffee machine? I saw it was broken and - “

“ - and you just decided to jump in and 'fix it'?” Mark asked harshly, taking a step forwards. “For God's sake, Tony, you can't just dismantle anything that catches your eye. That was mine. I was going to take it back to the store, it's still in warranty.” 

This wasn't how the morning was supposed to go. Just the tone of Mark's voice, the look of frustration and disappointment in his eyes had him feeling guilty. “But I can fix it,” he tried to explain. “Hell, I can make it better.” 

“That's not the point,” Mark snapped, exasperated. “It's mine. You need to have more respect for other people's property. Just because you can buy anything doesn't give you the right to act like an entitled whore.” 

He froze. “What did you call me?” he asked in shocked disbelief. “You can't - “

Mark shoved him hard against the counter before he had a chance to move out of the way, and the edge caught him hard, just below the ribs. With a snarl, Mark flung the coffee pot down on the floor where it smashed into a thousand pieces. 

Heart pounding, he fell into the defensive stance Happy had taught him, bringing his hands up, ready to fight, but Mark was too fast and too strong, and he grabbed his arm with bruising force and twisted it up behind his back, holding him down and helpless. 

This wasn't a fair fight, he realised dully. It was like when he sparred with Natasha or Steve without the armour or any of his other tricks. On his own, when it was purely physical, he didn't have a chance then, and he didn't have a chance now. Mark could do whatever he liked. 

“Stop,” he gasped desperately, as the blood hammered past his ears. “Let me go.”

To his shock, Mark let him go. 

He staggered forwards, grabbing the edge of the counter for support. His hands were shaking. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. He'd meant to be firm. He'd meant to stop this from happening again. 

When he twisted his head round to look, Mark was just standing and watching him. 

“You're not supposed to hurt me,” he managed to say, his voice shaky. 

Mark sighed. “Don't make me angry then,” he said roughly, dragging a hand down his face. “God, how does the rest of your team manage to live with you without killing you? I asked you to make breakfast, not fix the goddamn coffee machine. How hard is that?” 

The toaster popped making them both jump. 

Not taking his eyes off Mark, Tony reached out and grabbed the bagel and started smearing it with cream cheese. “Here,” he said bitterly, shoving the plate towards Mark. “Breakfast, right? That's what you wanted.” 

Mark stared at it for a second and then took a step forwards, grabbing the plate and flinging it onto the counter, and Tony took a step back, flinching as the glass dug into his bare foot. He couldn't quite stop the hiss of pain. 

“Damnit,” Mark muttered, staring down at the floor with a frown. “Much as I love you barefoot and in the kitchen...” He stepped forwards and swept Tony up into his arms bridal style, and Tony froze, not certain if it would be better to struggle or just pretend to give in. But Mark just carried him over the glass, over to the sofa and sat him down gently. “There you go,” he murmured. “I'll sweep up the glass in a moment. I think we have to talk first of all.” 

Tony shifted uneasily on the sofa, his arm and side aching. He didn't want to talk. Right now, Mark was calm and he wanted that to continue as long as possible. And they shouldn't be talking after this, right? He should be leaving, or something. But he was more or less naked, and he'd have to walk right by Mark to go to the bedroom and get clothes, and he wasn't afraid exactly afraid, he was just...cautious. Besides. Mark was looking at him like all of this made sense, like all of this war normal, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he wanted. “Right,” he agreed. “Talking's good. Let's talk.” 

“First of all,” Mark said. “I'm not an ogre and you're not some blushing bride. I don't know what you're thinking is going on here, but you're a superhero for God's sake, Tony. Do you really think you should be making a fuss about a little rough treatment? I barely touched you.” 

That was true. He couldn't really deny it. And Mark had stopped when he'd said, and when Mark had grabbed him, that had been more of a restraint than anything else. Mark could have hurt him much worse than that if he wanted to....was that really the point though? But he imagined trying to explain what happened to anyone else, and it always came back to the fact that this shouldn't happen to him, and if it did, he must be doing something wrong. 

( _Three decades ago, he stood in Howard's study, battered and bleeding, barely able to see through swollen eyes, and listened to the inarguable truth; Starks didn't get bullied. It didn't matter how much older the other boys were, how much bigger, how many more of them there were. He should be the natural leader, and if he couldn't make them like him, he simply wasn't good enough._ )

“I know you've mostly dated women before, and this is all new to you,” Mark went on. “But we're both men. You provoke me too much, and I can't always be responsible for the consequences, you understand?” 

“I was just fixing the coffee machine,” he protested. “How is that provoking you?” 

“Tony....” Mark sighed and sat down beside him, pressing his hand gently against Tony's cheek. Part of Tony wanted to pull away. Part of him wanted to lean closer. In the end, he just sat there. “You need to take more responsibility for what you do. Yes, I have anger problems, I admit that, but this isn't just on me, whatever you think. You're not some abused victim, Tony. You're stronger than that, aren't you?” 

What was he supposed to say? He couldn't say no, and that only left him one choice. “Yeah,” he agreed hollowly. “I suppose I am.” He could take this. And he did deserve it. He did such stupid things sometimes.

“Good.” Mark leaned forwards and kissed him tenderly, and this at least was comforting. Tony felt some of the tension in his shoulders slowly ease away. “I don't like hurting you, Tony, believe me. You just make me so mad sometimes, that's all. And I was still thinking of you. I was careful to keep clear of your face, I know you have that press event later.” 

The six month memorial service for the battle of New York. Yeah, he was really glad that he hadn't had to show up to that with bruises on his face. He'd never have heard the end of it. “Thanks,” he said unthinkingly, his head spinning.

Mark smiled. “You're welcome.” He said softly, reaching out and wrapping his arm across Tony's shoulders, drawing him in close. “Tony, you really are very difficult, you know that, right? I mean, how many people can you honestly say actually like you.” 

He tensed, and moved to pull away, but Mark held him tighter, his hand stroking comfortingly down Tony's arm. 

How many people liked him? How many people liked him, even when he was being difficult? “Rhodey likes me,” he said defiantly. “And Pepper. And Steve, and Bruce and Clint and Thor.” He didn't mention Natasha. He hoped Mark didn't notice. She hadn't wanted him on the team, and he'd never been completely sure if he'd managed to change her mind.

Mark reached out and clasped his hand. “I suppose I'll give you Rhodey,” he agreed. “I've never met the guy, after all. Though he is War Machine, right? He kind of has to like you to get his suit upgraded.” 

“I'd do that even if he hated me,” Tony protested. Rhodey being safe was what mattered.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure he knows that, though? You can be very petty. Maybe he just wants to keep you sweet. When was the last time you saw him when he didn't need something?” 

The last time he'd seen Rhodey he'd needed one of his thrusters fixed. The time before that, he'd been looking for an upgrade to his HUD. And the time before that there'd been some code he needed deconstructed....okay, it had been a while. But all those times, it wasn't like they just talked business. They talked, they drank beer....they were friends. That wasn't just because Rhodey needed him.

“And Pepper is your ex,” Mark said coldly, his hand tightening on Tony's arm. “I've told you before, you need to move on. It's not healthy. For either of you. You've forced her to run around after you, cleaning up your messes for far too long. Face it, if she likes you, it's Stockholm syndrome.” 

He flinched. He should let Pepper go. He didn't need Mark to tell him that. He'd never been able to make her happy. He disappointed her far too much for that. 

“And as for the Avengers....” Mark sighed. “Oh, Tony. I've spent enough time around you now to know they're getting annoyed with you. You must have noticed that yourself.” He waited expectantly. 

Tony bit his lip. “Maybe a little,” he admitted. 

“The things you say, the way you talk constantly...honestly, you can't blame them for being frustrated,” Mark went on gently. “How much trouble has your mouth got you into over the years?”

He shrugged. “I don't care what other people think of me,” he said.

“Yes you do,” Mark said. “You care what _they_ think anyway. You want them to like you. And if you want them to keep liking you, you should stay quiet unless you have something useful to say.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. He might have to concede when it came to Pepper, but this was just ridiculous. “My friends will accept me for who I am. _They_ don't want me to change.” And they didn't hurt him if he didn't. 

“Are you sure?” Mark asked quietly. “Maybe you should try keeping quiet for a while. See how it goes.” 

He remembered the way Bruce had shouted at him, the way Steve sighed when he said something obnoxious, the way Natasha glared at him when he talked too much...if they had a choice, would they really spend time with him?

“No,” he said unconvincingly, shaking his head. “No. I don't change for anyone.” 

“Okay,” Mark agreed placatingly. “If that's what you want. And remember, when.... _if_ they leave you behind, I'll still be there for you. I like you, Tony. I want what's best for you.” 

“You hurt me,” Tony pointed out, because that was supposed to be the point, wasn't it? That was supposed to matter. And he wasn't supposed to feel so much better at the thought that Mark wasn't going to leave.

“This again?” Mark took a deep breath. “God, Tony, you're such a drama queen. I barely touched you. And you have to admit, you deserved it.” 

Had he? He'd just wanted to fix the coffee machine. But he fucked up in so many ways, should he really be surprised if he'd got it wrong again? He was tired, suddenly, and he didn't know what he thought of any of this anymore. There were so many things he'd done in his life that he deserved to be punished for. 

“You're just not used to your actions having consequences, Tony,” Mark said kindly. “It's okay. Honestly. I swear, things will get better from here.” He hesitated. “I have to go to work now, I'm sorry. Will I see you tonight?” 

His eyes were hopeful. 

Tony hesitated. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Was he making a lot of fuss about nothing? He knew now he couldn't stop Mark hurting him if he wanted to, but Mark had stopped himself, and that had to mean something. And he did deserve it, didn't he? He always deserved it. There was so much blood on his hands. So many lives he'd left irreparably worse.

“Sure,” he said, slowly. 

But maybe first he'd manage to tell someone about this. Get another opinion, because he really didn't know what was right or wrong anymore.

*

The last public event they'd all been at together had been the disastrous press conference for the clean up announcement. Steve was glad to see that this was going so much better. Tony was being quiet and serious, wandering around between the little knots of people and reporters talking in low and sombre tones which reflected the mood perfectly. He could see everyone listening to Tony, treating him with respect, which was exactly what Tony deserved. He was the smartest man in the room, after all, and it was good to see him acting like it for once. Honestly, Steve was impressed. 

“I think this is going well,” he told Tony in an undertone, as they gathered for photos on the steps. 

“You mean I'm not drunk or tearing up the place?” Tony asked, his smile jagged. 

Steve tried to defuse the sudden tension. “You must admit, it makes a nice change. Seriously, it's good to see you happy.” 

Tony frowned, and he looked like he was about to say something, but suddenly someone threw something from the crowd – towards Tony – and a voice shouted out “God hates fags! You're going to burn in hell, Iron Man. Like you deserve.” 

Furious, Steve headed for the crowd, but SHIELD security was already there, dragging the guy away. Good. He hoped they threw the book at him, and while they were at it, he hoped that they did some digging into just how he'd got in in the first place. 

He turned back to Tony. “Are you okay?” he asked urgently. 

Tony was still staring after the guy. “Yeah. I'm fine,” he said quietly. 

He didn't sound fine. Steve looked around quickly. There were a lot of people listening. “He's wrong,” he said fiercely, loud enough that all the nearby ears could hear. “No one cares that you're in a relationship with a man,” he said. And maybe that wasn't true, but it should be, and that was what mattered. “Mark's good for you, anyone can see that. You deserve this.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, his eyes far away. “Yeah. You could be right.” 

He wanted to say something else, but his phone suddenly chirped. He reached into his pocket automatically and tried to bring up the message. “Oops,” he said, guiltily, as the screen froze for a moment before everything went black. 

Tony sighed. “What did you do?” he asked, reaching out to grab the phone out of Steve's hand. Then he stopped. “Uh, may I?” 

“Be my guest,” Steve said, handing it over with a smile. “I never thought I'd see you respecting other people's property though,” he added teasingly. “Since when did you ask permission first? Mark really is good for you if he's teaching you manners.” 

Tony didn't answer, intent upon sorting whatever Steve had done to the phone this time. Steve had to admit, he sort of missed the normal banter. But compared to the previous round of endless scandals, well, he much preferred the quiet.

*

He hadn't told anyone yet. He wasn't sure why not. Maybe he was ashamed and just didn't want to let everyone know he couldn't manage to hold down a functional relationship. Maybe he was worried they'd ask what he'd done to deserve it and then side with Mark. Maybe it was just because he never told anyone anything, and he resented having to start now. Hell, it was probably all those things, plus the fact that everyone who seemed to meet him seemed to think that Mark was Tony's own personal saviour.

At any rate it had been two weeks since the coffee machine incident, as he privately termed it. They had more or less put it behind them after Tony replaced it with a top of the line model. He hadn't been petty enough to point out that it could probably pay someone's rent just as easily as his sofa could. It was a small price to pay for forgiveness. 

But there had been a couple of other incidents since then. Nothing he could honestly say he hadn't provoked. Nothing he could say with absolute confidence he didn't deserve. When he'd met Mark's work friends, Mark had been embarrassed by the number of slut jokes his friends made about Tony, and even more embarrassed when Tony turned round and suggested that since they were so fixated on his sex life, they were welcome to come watch. He'd paid for it in private. Everything Mark's friends had said had been in good fun, and he would have known that if he was _fucking normal_. But now Mark was ashamed to be seen with him. And then he'd gone and woken Mark up when he'd had an idea at three o'clock in the morning and absolutely had to get it down there and then. That was just inconsiderate. He had to admit, he deserved what he got.

That didn't mean he was happy about it though. But he just kept chasing circles inside his head. Was this really wrong, or was he just making a fuss over nothing? Bruce had asked if he'd apologised, so clearly he felt everything must be Tony's fault...but he hadn't actually _seen_ the bruises, so it wasn't as if he knew the full story. And Steve had said no one cared and he deserved this, it was good for him...but he didn't know either. He didn't know how anyone would react if they knew Mark hit him sometimes. Maybe it was just a case of whatever worked. He wasn't in the press all the time these days, and he was generally sober and showed up more or less on time...maybe that was all that mattered to them.

He was far from stupid; he knew that thing Mark had told him about it being because they were both men was bullshit. There was no rule where violence was suddenly okay in a relationship if you both had dicks. But some part of him was afraid that maybe there was a rule where it was okay if you were Tony Stark. It was easy to imagine most people thinking he had it coming, and he really should be able to cope with it. 

He had thought for a while about telling Pepper, seeing what she thought, but he was afraid she might think it was a ploy to win her back, and he was even more afraid it might work. That really wouldn't be fair. And Rhodey was out of reach, and that just left the other Avengers, and he just...didn't want to have that conversation. Ever. 

With a sigh, he turned back to the project at hand.

“Might I remind you, sir, that you have now been working for approximately fourteen hours without a break,” JARVIS told him politely. “Perhaps this would be a good time for you to get some rest.” 

“Mark's coming over for dinner at seven,” Tony said, looking at the hologram critically. Still too heavy, he thought. And the balance wouldn't work when it mattered. 

“I see, sir,” JARVIS said coldly. 

He glanced up. “Hey, you're the one who said I should spend more time with people.” 

“People, yes, sir,” JARVIS agreed. “I have yet to be persuaded that Mr Lowing qualifies.”

There wasn't really much he could say about that. JARVIS had suspicions, he knew. They'd talked about it, or JARVIS had talked about it while Tony had talked around it. He hadn't admitted to anything, and there'd been no incidents anyplace JARVIS monitored, but he went out with Mark and came back with bruises, and he'd designed JARVIS to be smart, hell, he'd designed JARVIS to be brilliant and there was a pattern there, one that JARVIS wasn't willing to overlook. 

He'd ordered JARVIS not to discuss it with anyone else. Ordered, and that was something he really hated doing. Normally, he didn't order JARVIS to keep his secrets, he simply trusted that JARVIS would, and he knew that trust would never be misplaced. But this...he thought JARVIS might just think it was worth betraying him to 'save' him. 

“I like him,” he said quietly, rubbing the side of his head tiredly. “Can't you just be happy for me?” 

“Right now, I am afraid for you, sir,” JARVIS answered sombrely. 

He closed his eyes. “Let's just keep working. I want this done for tomorrow.” 

The blueprint spun over and he worked, not paying any attention to the time until he heard his workshop door buzzer sound. “Who is it?” he asked JARVIS absently. 

“Captain Rogers and Mr Lowing,” JARVIS answered.

Mark was here already? He glanced at the time. Oh. Not so much already then. Oops. “You never call him Agent Lowing,” he commented as he crossed to the door. 

“Sir?” JARVIS said innocently. Tony wondered if it was some sort of subtly polite slam. Normally JARVIS was very careful about people's titles. 

He opened the workshop door, all careful smiles. “Hi.” 

“You're late for dinner,” Steve said disapprovingly. “When you have a guest, it's good manners to actually show up. Actually, it's always good manners to show up.” 

He stayed focused on the reproach in Steve's puppy-dog eyes. As guilt-inducing as it was, it was so much better than checking to see just how angry Mark was. Because that would be admitting to all sorts of things he didn't want to admit. “Yeah, I know,” he shrugged. “I'm working on something important though. Got caught up.” 

“Fine,” Steve said with a sigh. “But Natasha's cooking, so you'd better put in an appearance. You know what she gets like. I'll see you downstairs.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, as he watched Steve nod to Mark and head for the elevator with a sinking sense of abandonment. He cracked a smile. “Alone at last,” he said as he stepped back into the workshop. 

Mark followed. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the workshop, but it was the first time he'd been in the workshop while fixing Tony with that look, and he felt his hand twitch, like he was reaching to activate the bracelets. “That was rude,” Mark told him, brow thunderous. “What you said to Steve.” 

“He's a big boy,” he said lightly. “He'll get over it.” 

“You're working on something important?” Mark asked dangerously, walking slowly towards him, and Tony tried his best to stand his ground. “Like I'm not important? Like spending time with your team isn't important? The world doesn't revolve around you, Tony. The others are getting pretty sick of it. You should hear what Steve was saying about you on the way here. Selfish. Irresponsible. Inconsiderate.” 

He could hear Steve saying that. Could imagine the apology on his behalf, and it _hurt_. “Hey, those are some of my better qualities,” he said with a grin.

Mark swung without warning, driving his fist hard into Tony's stomach, and he was doubled up in an instant, struggling to breathe, and Mark hit him again, and again, and he was on the floor. 

“JARVIS!” he managed to choke out as Mark swung his foot back ready to kick. “Override code Delta Rainman Lemonpie.” 

“Sir!” JARVIS protested. 

“What was that?” Mark snarled. 

Tony placed his hand flat on the floor and tried to push himself up. His arm was trembling. “There's protocols in the tower. There's an alert if anyone's being attacked.” 

“Attacked?” Mark's eyes flashed with disbelieving rage. “Did you just call the _Avengers_ because you were late for dinner?” He brought his foot down heavily on Tony's shoulder and Tony fell back down. 

“Stop this!” JARVIS said harshly. “Move away from him now!” Tony knew he couldn't actually do anything, but there was still something vaguely reassuring about the fury and outrage underlying the electronic voice. At least someone had his back.

Still, he didn't dare look away from Mark. “No.” He shook his head painfully. “I was cancelling the alert. I...” He didn't finish. He couldn't. He didn't want them to know. Even if he thought he should tell them, if they saw him like _this_....weak and pathetic....there was no way they'd ever trust him again. 

“You still had it set up in the first place,” Mark spat, pressing his foot down harder, and Tony bit back the cry of pain. The bracelets were right there. He had the basic components for a taser on the workbench right above his head, and a whole wealth of sharp or dangerous objects in reach. He could stop this. If he really had to, he could stop this. He just wasn't sure he could do it without hurting Mark. He _knew_ he couldn't do it without losing him.“What's the good of a security protocol that can't tell - “

There was an impossible, mechanical scream of rage, and Tony caught sight of Dummy just before he clumsily swung the wrench and hit Mark in the back of the leg.

“What the hell?” Mark exclaimed, spinning round and tearing the wrench from Dummy's claw, moving immediately to strike the bot.

“Don't hurt him!” Tony yelled, struggling up onto his knees, his hand outstretched in a desperate plea.

This was all too familiar. A long time ago, it had been Howard holding the wrench, and Psycho, Dummy's older sibling sat on the floor while Tony begged helplessly for his robot's life.

“Please,” he said, his voice raw. “Don't hurt him. He didn't mean it. He doesn't understand. Please.” 

For a long moment, Mark just stared at him, and Tony couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking. Then, slowly, he laid the wrench down. “I wasn't going to hurt it,” he said. “It...he....just took me by surprise, that's all.” 

“Sir, I must point out - “ JARVIS started, and Tony had a fairly good idea of all the many things JARVIS wanted to point out right now.

“ - mute,” he said quickly, because Mark wasn't going to hurt Dummy, and he didn't want him trying to figure out how to hurt JARVIS instead. So much better to keep all the attention on him. Except right now, Mark was focused on Dummy.

“You're a cute little guy, aren't you? Can you shake hands?” He held out his hand towards Dummy's claw.

Dummy shied away immediately, turning to face Tony and making an unhappy whirring noise. 

Content that the incident was over for the moment, Tony slumped back against the workshop. This whole mess had him struggling to understand. He couldn't imagine how Dummy was supposed to make sense of it. “'s okay,” he told Dummy quietly. “Go on. Be nice.” 

Dummy made another unhappy noise, but stayed still while Mark clasped his claw and briefly shook. 

Mark laughed delightedly. “He's amazing,” he said sincerely. “Did you build him yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Back in college. He's practically an antique.” 

“I suppose that explains why you were so worried about me breaking him,” Mark said thoughtfully. He walked towards Tony and knelt down beside him. Tony tried not to tense up. “You okay? Take your t-shirt off, let me see.” 

Silently, he leaned forwards and wriggled out of his t-shirt with Mark's help. 

Mark looked him over critically. “It's not so bad,” he decided after a few seconds. “You got any ice in here? Painkillers?” 

He nodded over towards the corner. “There. I always keep the first aid kit stocked. Accidents happen.” Not that this was an accident. 

“Here we go,” Mark said, coming back and tenderly pressing the icepack against Tony's shoulder. “This should keep the swelling down at least. And take these...you haven't been drinking, right?” 

“No,” he agreed, dry-swallowing the pills. 

For a while they sat in silence, and Mark held him close and stroked his hair. “Imagine how much easier this would all be if you'd just showed up for dinner on time,” Mark murmured. 

Yeah. He knew. “You should go on downstairs,” he said quietly. “You must be hungry, but I'm not going to be able to face food tonight.” Not until his stomach stopped hurting anyway.

Mark gazed down at the bruises for a moment and sighed. “Sorry,” he said regretfully, and Tony felt absurdly glad of the apology. “Would you mind?” 

“I'm not that selfish,” he protested, a little hurt. “Go. Eat. I really do have a lot of work to do.” 

“What are you working on that's so important, anyway?” Mark asked curiously. 

Tony sighed and rubbed at his head again. “You remember I told you about Coulson? Clint and Natasha's friend, in the hospital?” 

Mark nodded. “Sure.” 

“Well, he's doing better, but he's still not allowed to get too far from the hospital, and he has to walk with a cane,” he explained. “Only Clint says walking around without a weapon bothers him, but a gun's too heavy, and he can't balance it with the cane, so he keeps taking a wheelchair instead.” And apparently if he wasn't willing to work at his physio, he wouldn't get better. Clint had sounded frustrated and fearful when he'd told them that. “So I figured I might as well see if there was a way of building a cane with a taser in it so everyone's happy.” 

There was a fraction of a second's pause. “That's what you're working on?” Mark asked eventually. “That's what's so important?”

“Yeah.” He bit his lip. “I know it's never going to have any mass market value. Hell, it'll probably only be used this once, but I still - “

“ - I think it's sweet,” Mark interrupted. “Really. I think the fact that you're willing to go so far for your friends says good things about you, Tony. You should show that side of yourself more often.” 

He shrugged, uncomfortably. “I only did it so Clint would stop annoying me with his constant worrying.” 

“Sure,” Mark said with a smile.

“You should go downstairs,” Tony told him quickly. “Before Natasha's soup gets cold. Or she'll never forgive any of us. Just tell the others...” He hesitated.

“I'll say you weren't feeling well,” Mark promised. 

He relaxed. “Thank you,” he said, with an adoring smile. 

“And I'll see you after,” Mark promised, kissing him lightly. “Maybe I can help you try out this taser cane of yours.” 

“Sounds like fun,” he said automatically. The workshop door closed and locked itself as soon as Mark had left. Somehow, Tony doubted it would be opening easily.

He sighed and leaned his head back. “Okay, JARVIS. Unmute. Sorry.” 

“Sir.” JARVIS' voice sounded strange. Like he couldn't quite figure out how to express the emotions he was experiencing. “Would you allow me to call a doctor?” 

“I don't need one,” he pointed out, knowing that JARVIS already knew that. JARVIS monitored his vitals, after all. “Nothing's broken. I'm not even bleeding. He's...careful.”

“I believe, sir, in this instance the best way to be careful is to avoid physical violence altogether,” JARVIS told him with a subdued version of his normal snark. 

I'm _trying_ ,” he snapped. “I didn't mean to be late for dinner. I'll do better in the future, I swear.” 

“I do not believe that the responsibility lies with you, in this instance,” JARVIS said carefully. “Mr Lowing is abusing you, and - “

“ - don't say that,” he interrupted quickly. “It's not like that. It's just....it's just not, okay? I'm a fuck-up, J, I've always been a fuck-up and this is just...” He shook his head blindly. 

“This is just what, sir?” JARVIS asked gently. 

“I don't know,” he said, frustrated. “I don't know what it is, but whatever it is, everyone thinks it's doing me good.” He wiped at his eyes, angry at the wetness there. “He didn't hurt Dummy,” he offered.

At the sound of his name, Dummy crept over towards him, and You was only a little way behind, both of them _looking_ at him, sensors extended, like they somehow wanted him to fix everything. He reached out mechanically and rubbed at a spot behind Dummy's head. There was a knot of pressure sensors there, he knew Dummy felt it, though he didn't know if Dummy registered it as anything more than an announcement that he was there. Maybe that was enough.

Howard had hurt Psycho. He'd smashed the bot to pieces while Tony had watched, and then systematically destroyed every component that Tony could have used to try and repair him or create a back-up. He'd never laid a hand on Tony himself, but he'd killed Psycho, while Mark had hurt Tony, but he'd shown mercy to Dummy. He knew which of those was more likely to be classed as 'abuse', but he also knew which hurt more. 

No one else knew about Psycho though. Not even JARVIS or Dummy. He thought the idea might just be too disturbing for them, and for reasons he'd never cared to examine too closely, it still hurt too much to talk about.

“He didn't hurt Dummy,” he said again, more definitely this time, his hand curled lightly around the back of Dummy's neck, like he wanted to make sure the bot was still here and real. “I wouldn't have been able to forgive him if he had.” 

Dummy made a sort of chirping noise and pressed against Tony's good shoulder. 

“He did hurt _you_ , sir,” JARVIS countered. “And we will not be able to forgive him for that.” 

That made him feel strangely warm. But still he argued. “He's a good guy,” he protested. “It's not always like that.” 

“This is not right,” JARVIS told him gently. “Mr Lowing is still downstairs. Please. Let me inform Captain Rogers and the others of recent events.” 

He shuddered at the thought. “No. Definitely not. You hear me, J? I absolutely forbid it.” 

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS agreed unhappily. “May I ask if you are planning on continuing with this relationship?” Somehow, he managed to convey with his tone of voice just how bad an idea he thought that was. 

Tony focused on Dummy. The pivot on his claw was looking worn. Really, Tony should replace the whole thing. Sometime soon he'd have to schedule a day for maintenance. “I don't know,” he said at last. 

“Will you at least consider telling the other Avengers?” JARVIS suggested hopefully. 

He could hear the worry in his AI's voice, which was a remarkable feat of engineering. He didn't want JARVIS to worry, though, and he knew JARVIS was just assuming that the other Avengers would react the way he had. JARVIS wouldn't even consider the idea that there might be different rules for Tony, and Tony wasn't sure he wanted to explain it. He had been thinking of talking to the others anyway after all. “Sure,” he said with a sigh. “I promise.” 

With an effort, he pulled himself to his feet. “Okay. Let's keep working. I want to be able to give this to Clint when he visits Agent tomorrow.” 

*

They'd all been living in the tower for a while now, and they'd developed a sort of domestic routine. Just a little habits and traditions that were somehow more tied up in Bruce's idea of what being an Avenger was than combat training, mission briefings, or press events. The Avengers – as a team – were movie nights and lazy breakfasts and the weekly team dinner. They often ate together more than that, of course, but this was the night when someone actually cooked a meal for the six of them.

He'd been the one to start it, albeit accidentally. It had been soon after they'd all moved in, and he'd been trying to find some gesture that meant thank-you-for-not-treating-me-like-a-monster, and a home cooked meal had been inadequate, but it had seemed like a good start. Then it had turned out Clint knew how to cook, even if he only knew how to make chilli, and Bruce suspected there was an element of thank-you-for-trusting-me-even-though-I-tried-to-kill-you mixed in there, and then they discovered Steve's Mom had taught _him_ to cook, and he could turn almost anything into leftover pie, and Natasha had made a couple of Russian dishes Bruce had never even heard of before, and Tony _couldn't_ cook, but he'd taken a day, JARVIS and half a dozen recipe books to come up with a passable mac and cheese, and Thor couldn't cook either, but he had Jane to help and between them they'd....set fire to the kitchen....but somehow it had become a _thing_. A regularly scheduled Avengers thing, with an upper limit on mission talk, and Bruce looked forward to it more and more.

Jane tended to be there whenever she was in town, and Pepper had used to come along sometimes, so when Tony asked if he could invite Mark, no one had a problem with that. The problem started when Mark arrived and Tony wasn't there to greet him.

“Am I early?” Mark asked, as Steve led him into the kitchen. “Tony said seven.” 

Steve sighed and smiled. “I guess he's having one of his irresponsible days.” 

“Go and fetch him,” Natasha commanded, wielding a ladle dangerously. “This soup is almost ready and I do not wish to add the sour cream until everyone is sitting down.” 

“Shall we?” Steve smiled at Mark. “Tony will be in his workshop. He'll have got caught up in whatever he was working on. He can get pretty inconsiderate when he's working, but it's just because he's so focused.” 

They vanished towards the elevator, and Bruce set the table under Natasha's watchful eye. For some reason, Natasha regarded cooking as seriously as any mission. 

Steve came back after less than five minutes, but it was another ten before Mark reappeared. And he was alone.

“Where's Tony?” Bruce asked with a frown. 

Mark paused in the doorway awkwardly. “Tony, uh, isn't....he's not feeling well,” he said with an embarrassed, heavy sigh. “He doesn't want dinner.” 

Bruce felt a stab of disappointment. Oh, Tony. It didn't take a genius to figure out he'd been drinking again.

“I thought he was doing better,” Clint said, sounding upset.

“Maybe I should go check on him,” Bruce suggested, standing up and taking a step towards the elevator.

“No,” Mark said quickly. “He...didn't exactly seem in the mood for company, if you know what I mean.” 

There was an odd note in Mark's voice, and Bruce grimaced sympathetically. It couldn't be easy for him. “Okay, I suppose I'll see him later. And JARVIS will tell is if there's anything serious anyway.” He noticed that Mark looked pale. Well, this probably wasn't the evening he'd had in mind, and Bruce knew how exhausted he got when dealing with a drunk. “Are you going to stay for dinner?” he suggested with a warm smile. “You'd be very welcome.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Mark said, sounding surprised and gratified. “I shouldn't....but it does smell amazing.” He smiled at Natasha.

“Sit,” she said, relatively pleasantly. 

“Please,” Steve added with a smile that was somewhat apologetic. “I know it's not what you had planned, but we're happy to have you.” 

“Well, okay,” Mark agreed, sitting at the table in Tony's usual seat. 

“I'm sorry about Tony,” Steve added uncomfortably. 

“That's not your fault,” Mark said quickly. “I'm getting used to him. I suppose you must have learned to expect him not turning up when he's supposed to, huh?” 

“He's reliable when it's important,” Natasha said, bringing the soup over.

“Though he has his own idea what is important,” Steve added sourly. 

“He has been a lot better lately,” Bruce said defensively. 

“Yeah,” Mark said with a hopeful smile. “I thought that. Lord knows, he's a lot of work, but at least he tries.” 

“Truly,” Thor nodded, smiling kindly at Mark “We have wondered if perhaps you are a beneficial influence.” 

“Well, I certainly try,” Mark murmured. “This is delicious, Natasha, thank you.” 

Dinner went well, on the whole. It was good getting to know Mark better. They _should_ know him, since he seemed set to be a long term feature in Tony's life. Superficially, Bruce had a sneaking suspicion, Mark was actually easier for Steve, Natasha and Clint to relate to than Tony himself. Tony lived in a different world from them, and beyond the safety-of-the-world-protection-of-the-innocents, they had different values. Mark was ex-army, and had served in Kosovo and the first Gulf war before joining the FBI, and that gave the guys some common ground, made it easy for them to talk to him. And he was very charming, Bruce had to admit. Not that it was the way he swung, but he could certainly see the attraction, and he felt flattered when Mark told him that Tony had explained how they'd used some of the breakthroughs he'd made in his experiments to make a whole new kind of medical scanner which was currently being rolled out across the US and would offer a better picture with less radiation exposure.

“That's just amazing,” Mark said sincerely.

Bruce shrugged modestly. “Well, Tony's financing it, and it's his company that's actually building them.” 

“But it's your ideas behind it all, right?” Mark asked. “Don't sell yourself short, doc, even to a layman the whole thing sounds incredible. You'll be saving all those lives, every day.” 

Bruce had to admit, he liked it, when people praised the man and forgot the monster. And he wondered if Tony had maybe told Mark that so Mark could earn his brownie points, but no, there was nothing but open sincerity and admiration in Mark's eyes.

“Oh, yeah, I meant to ask,” Mark said casually. “Do you know how advanced JARVIS is? I mean, sometimes it seems to have feelings. Can it make its own decisions, or does it only do what Tony tells it?” He smiled disarmingly. “I asked Tony, but to be honest, I didn't really follow the explanation.” 

“It's difficult to say, “ Bruce said carefully. “He – you should call him a he – does seem to have some emotions, but I'm not sure how much of that is clever programming. He can certainly make some decisions autonomously, but ultimately he's completely loyal to Tony.” 

“Completely, huh?” Mark repeated. “That's good to know.” 

“Just treat him as a person,” Steve advised. “It's always worked for me.” 

“I will,” Mark nodded. “Thanks.” 

They talked about lots of things, and certainly he was trying to make sure Mark had a good time to make up for Tony's behaviour, so he didn't really understand how the conversation kept turning back to Tony and all the stupid or outrageous things he did.

“And then when General Ross tried to have him thrown out, Tony turned round and bought the place for about five times what it was worth,” Clint finished, laughing. Bruce smiled to. He always liked hearing about Ross' misfortunes, no matter how trivia. “Phil said it was like the perfect storm of annoying. Apparently it's now being used as an example to new recruits.” 

“Everything not to do on an op 101,” Natasha agreed. “And you wonder why we only wanted him as a consultant?” 

“Did you?” Mark asked, blinking. “I didn't know that.” 

Neither had Bruce, really. At least he'd never thought of it that way.

Clint shrugged. “It all worked out in the end.” 

“Yes, it did,” Steve said firmly. “So, Mark, did you really say Tony had bought you your own permanent seat for Mets games?” 

“Front row,” Mark nodded. “Right behind the dug out. It even has a little plaque with my name on it. I told him it was too expensive and he shouldn't waste his money, but he just said he could afford it.” He shrugged. “I guess he can.” 

And then the conversation went on to ridiculous things Tony had bought them, and they were smiling and laughing, and it got to be only a little odd that Tony wasn't there. 

Mark lingered for a while after dinner. Long enough to drink coffee and watch the news, but eventually he headed back upstairs to take care of his drunk boyfriend. 

“He is very eager that we should like him,” Thor commented out of nowhere.

Natasha gave him a sideways look.” Yes,” she agreed.

Bruce frowned. “Isn't that understandable though?” he pointed out. “I mean, dealing with your partner's friends is difficult enough at the best of times. And we are...well.” He looked round the room and smiled in brief amusement. “I wouldn't want to be our enemy.” 

“Truly, I had not thought of that,” Thor nodded, his brow furrowed. “We do present an intimidating prospect.” 

“Besides, we _do_ like him,” Steve pointed out. “Right?” 

“Right,” Bruce agreed unhesitatingly. “He seems a nice guy. And he cares about Tony.”

“Never mind that, he can put up with Tony,” Clint added with a smirk. “Now that's impressive.”

Bruce laughed in spite of himself.

“Alright,” Steve said. “Whose turn is it to pick the movie?” 

“Not Bruce's,” Clint said promptly. “I want to watch something without subtitles.” 

“Perhaps you would find them easier to read if you were further away?” Natasha suggested innocently. 

As they moved through to the entertainment room, happily bickering, Bruce spared a thought for Tony, sorry he was missing this. To his guilty surprise, he realised he felt even more sorry for Mark.

*

JARVIS worried. He could not accurately identify at what stage in his development he had recognised that activity of examining facts that could not be changed and endlessly fixating on probable unfavourable outcomes as 'worrying', but it was sir he had been worrying about. It was always sir he worried about, and since Afghanistan there had never been a time when at least 0.5% of his processing power wasn't caught up in worry.

He had been designed to help sir with his work and run the house, it was true, but mostly he had been designed to help sir, whether that meant reminding him to eat, hacking into a government database, or simply listening to him. 

He had not been designed with the Iron Man project in mind. Nothing in his specs had ever prepared him to act as a willing participant as sir flew a missile through a portal to an unknown part of space, and then watch helpless as his consciousness slipped away to his back up server, leaving sir to die alone. That wasn't what he was built for, but he learned and adapted, as sir had. And he wouldn't have it any other way; as long as sir was fighting, JARVIS would fight beside him. It was in his coding, deeper than sir had even written; Anthony Edward Stark _mattered_. To JARVIS, he was everything. 

He had not anticipated a turn of events which would give him more cause to worry than Iron Man, but sir's relationship with Mr Lowing certainly qualified. More than anything else, it made JARVIS regret that humans – even sir – did not operate on logical lines. It should have been enough for him to explain to sir that Mr Lowing hurt him, and therefore was not good for him, and the relationship should end. But none of this was logical. Sir believed that he deserved this, and if JARVIS couldn't understand the logic he couldn't hope to refute it. It made him angry.

Anger was an emotion he could pinpoint his understanding of exactly. It was the moment he came back online and on instantaneously reviewing the security footage for the time he'd been out, saw Obadiah Stane tear out sir's heart and leave him to die.

He did not know what to do. He had watched Mr Lowing's attack on sir and had experienced that same anger, but where Obadiah's Stane's attack had been in the past and he could see sir was alive even as he was watching, this was live and he had no way to stop it. 

He stayed with sir, even when he and Mr Lowing went up to bed. There was no protocol requiring him to actively monitor living areas unless he was specifically requested to, and he generally stayed out. There was no rational reason for him to keep watch. He knew that there would be nothing he could do if Mr Lowing became violent. He would simply be a helpless witness. However, he also knew that if sir was attacked again and he was not 'there' he would never forgive himself.

There was nothing of major concern. No reason why sir would even know he was there. There was some sexual activity, but it did not appear harmful or coercive.

Once the two were asleep he made an effort to divert some of his processes from worrying and into finding solutions. He could not let this go on, but he himself had no way of directly stopping it, and sir had blocked him from alerting anyone else. That did not entirely limit the possibilities of covert action, however, and through the night he devised thirty-eight different possible scenarios and ran each of them with several thousand variations. None of them had a risk to success chance ratio that he was altogether happy with, but he was willing to keep working on it.

Mr Lowing woke up a little after seven and walked out into the living room, closing the door behind him. “JARVIS? Can you hear me in here?” 

The amount of time it took JARVIS to weigh up whether or not to respond was infinitesimal, but he took a certain petty pleasure in pausing anyway. “Yes, Mr Lowing,” he said eventually. 

“Good.” Mark stood in front of the sofa and smiled at the hologram display for all the world like that's where he thought JARVIS was. “Now, Captain America said I should talk to you like a human being, so that's what I'm going to do. You saw that altercation earlier this evening, and I'm guessing it bothered you, is that right?” 

He waited expectantly. 

“I am an AI,” JARVIS said stiffly. “I do not get 'bothered'.” 

“Sure,” Mark said easily. “But I need you to understand that I want to take care of Tony, okay? I have his best interests at heart, and sometimes that means reprimanding him when he does wrong.” 

“We disagree as to Mr Stark's best interests,” JARVIS said dryly. 

The smile vanished. “If that's the way you want to play it....do you have an imagination, JARVIS?”

“I am capable of envisioning different possibilities,” JARVIS allowed, trying to calculate just where this was going. 

“Alright then,” Mr Lowing took a step towards the monitor and leaned in close. “Why don't you _envision_ every way I could hurt him?” he murmured. “Every way I could break him. Can you picture it, JARVIS?”

In rather less than a second, JARVIS had considered one hundred and seventy four different ways that Mr Lowing could hurt sir, each of them more horrific than the last. Ways that even sir surely would not be able to recover from. 

“Now, I don't want to hurt him,” Mr Lowing continued. “I really don't. But if I think that you're interfering with our relationship, or if I think you're trying to turn him against me, I really will have no choice. And it will be all your fault, you understand?” 

If Mr Lowing hurt sir, it would be his fault, not JARVIS', that was self-evident. But sir would still be hurt, and that was what he was trying to avoid. Quickly, he ran through options that would allow him to get sir free of this relationship and not risk further injury. They were limited and risky. “I understand,” he said levelly. 

“Good.” He was all smiles again. “Now, I imagine you were recording that argument we had in Tony's workshop last night. Bring up the file, please.” 

He complied. The video hung in the air, frozen on an image of that first punch. 

“Delete it, please,” Mr Lowing said pleasantly. 

The video could be necessary later. And he was under no obligation to obey Mr Lowing's orders. Instead, he archived the video, triple-encrypting it and sending it to one of his remote back-up servers, physically hosted in a safehouse in Fargo. Sir would be able to find it, if he knew to look for it, but no one else had a chance. Just to emphasise the point, he had a female electronic voice say _“File deleted,”_ and felt a certain cold satisfaction as Mark smiled in triumph. It was a small victory, but he had a suspicion it was going to be a very long war. 

“There we go,” Mark said jubilantly. “You see? I'm sure we're going to be good friends in no time.” 

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS agreed coolly. All that mattered was he protect sir. For the moment, he could mitigate the damage and try and persuade sir to end the relationship. Mr Lowing was human, which meant he would make mistakes. Eventually, there would be an opportunity and JARVIS would be waiting. 

*

Tony had stood in front of the mirror and practised a dozen different ways of telling the Avengers. Everything from the blunt ( _So Mark beats me. Is that okay?_ ) to the coy ( _So, hypothetically if someone isn't a good person but they have someone else who makes them a better person, but that someone else is sometimes kinda forceful when he does....is that okay?_ ) All of them left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn't just say Mark beat him, it was far too dramatic, and he didn't even think it was true. A few punches didn't make a beating, right? And if he said 'Mark hits me' it made him sound like a whining kindergartener, and it was still too dramatic. Suppose he said something like that and they got angry and upset, and then he explained what really happened and they thought he was just making a lot of fuss over nothing? He would feel like such an idiot.

No, he had to be more casual than that. Say something simple and understated and let them ask more questions if they wanted to.

He felt sick at the thought. 

He wasn't even completely sure what answer he was looking for. Did he want them to get upset and tell him this was wrong, or did he want them to reassure him that everything was okay? He didn't want to lose Mark. They had fun together, and Mark cared for him, and really, what he wanted was the relationship to continue but without the violence. But he'd already seen enough to know that wasn't going to happen. Not unless he could somehow avoid making Mark angry, and he knew himself well enough to admit that was a lost cause. So what did he even want the others to do? Maybe he just wanted to know what they thought. 

At any rate, tonight was a good night to tell them. Mark was out of town and they'd had a productive training session so everyone was in a good mood. He'd managed to keep up, even though he was still aching from the incident in the workshop the other night, which he was counting as a personal win. Just to help things along though, he'd made a point of ordering in food from five different places so everyone would have their favourite. He might have got carried away. The table creaked under the weight.

Steve looked at it and sighed, shaking his head. “You know we're never going to eat all that.” 

He smiled, trying to hide his nervousness. “I have faith in you and Thor.”

“We're going to end up throwing half of it out,” Steve fretted.

Tony's smile slipped. He knew how much it bothered Steve when he thought they were wasting things. Damnit, he should have thought this through better. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly. 

Steve looked up quickly. “No, it all looks great, Tony. Don't worry about it. You know how much I like the pizza from Benny's.” 

They were off to a great start. The rest wandered in after a while, and they all had something to say about the amount of food before they sat and ate. Tony barely touched a thing. He had no appetite.

“No Mark tonight?” Bruce asked casually.

He made an effort not to tense. “No, he's got a case out of town. He'll be away for the next few days.” 

“Pity,” Bruce said, noticeably disappointed, and with a jolt, Tony realised that the others were nodding in agreement.

They liked Mark. They all liked Mark. Of course they did, what wasn't to like? He was better than Tony could ever hope to be. And that left him with a new worry, what if they just didn't believe him? What if they didn't just take Mark's side, what if they thought Tony was making the whole thing up for attention or something? He swallowed hard at the thought. “So, what do you think of Mark?” he asked casually. 

“He's swell,” Steve said sincerely. “He's a real stand up guy, and he seems to be a fantastic influence on you.” 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, smirking. “I don't know how he's getting you to behave, but I wish he could use it on missions.” 

This was it. This was the moment he had to confess and face the music. And the words stuck in his throat. “Sometimes he gets physical,” he said, and the lightness sounded incredibly forced to him. 

There was a brief silence, and then Clint laughed uproariously. “Whatever works,” he said. 

“Whatever's good for you, Tony,” Steve said, looking uncomfortable. 

He looked around the table quick at the others quickly. Thor was watching him curiously. Natasha seemed to be barely listening, but when she caught him looking, she offered him an encouraging, dismissive smile. Bruce looked almost as uncomfortable as Steve.

None of them looked shocked. None of them looked like they thought this was wrong. At most, he could say, it seemed like they thought it was something he shouldn't have mentioned in polite company. Mark was right; it didn't matter. As long as he was a functional part of the team, he didn't matter.

With a laugh he quickly changed the subject. Anything to try and forget.

*

Steve had trouble sleeping, and he wasn't sure why. He had the sort of unsettled feeling he normally got when the day had gone badly, but there had been nothing particularly wrong with today. The conversation at dinner had been weird, admittedly, but he figured that was just Tony being Tony. Same sex relationships were one of the things that people just didn't expect him to get and he wanted to make a point of being supportive, particularly after that jerk at the memorial service. Of course Tony was going to test that. _Getting physical_. He snorted with laughter as he remembered. Yes, he had figured Tony and Mark were having sex, thank you. And he didn't really need to know that Tony was 'getting some' as a reward for good behaviour. Still, at least he was happy. That was what mattered, right? 

He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was somehow missing something.

*

Tony stood in front of the mirror, stripped to the waist and staring at himself. His fingers traced carefully over the scars around the arc reactor, and down to the dark bruises across his stomach. His shoulder was still a mess of swollen purple. 

He met his eyes in the mirror. “I deserve this,” he told himself. His voice was uncertain. 

He wasn't a good person. He'd never been able to be what other people needed him to be. He hadn't been good enough for Dad, hadn't been good enough for Obie, hadn't been good enough for Natasha or Fury, and he hadn't been good enough for Pepper. The fact that Mark was willing to give him a chance was probably a miracle, and this...this was just Mark's way of trying to make him a better person. Because he cared enough for him to try and change him.

If this was the price he had to pay to keep Mark, to keep his team and his friends, wasn't it worth it? Everyone else thought so. 

His fingers dug deep into the bruises. His eyes in the mirror were tired. “I deserve this,” he said with growing conviction. “I deserve this.” 

*


	4. Diminishing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken a while. I was away for a few days....and I'm easily distracted.

“Clint hates you,” Mark said in a low voice, his face inches from Tony's, his fingers digging painfully into Tony's arm. 

Tony didn't try to pull away. That would be a sign of weakness, and he wasn't weak. He stood firm, and wished he didn't have to crane his neck to look Mark in the eyes. When had this relationship become a battle? “No he doesn't,” he said, trying to sound confident, desperately trying to remember every conversation he'd had with Clint over the last few days, trying to figure out what Mark had seen that he'd missed.

Mark's grip tightened. “Don't just argue for the sake of arguing, Tony. For God's sake, you're not twelve, even if you act like it sometimes. You need to pay attention to what other people are feeling. It's not rocket science. Clint is pissed at you because of those explosive pulse arrows you gave him, and you know what? I don't blame him one bit.” 

Neither did Tony. He winced at the memory. They'd tested fine, but then they'd run up against a would-be supervillain with an EMP that he'd hoped would be enough to take down Iron Man. It hadn't, but it had set off Clint's arrowheads in a way Tony hadn't predicted. “He said it was okay,” Tony pointed out, remembering the debriefing afterwards. Clint had adapted immediately, throwing a whole mass of the arrowheads straight at the bad guy and letting him take himself out. “And I fixed the problem for the future.” 

The sight of Mark's scowl sent a cold shiver down Tony's spine. “When people say something's okay, it isn't. Do you really think this is good enough? These people rely on you, Tony. You have one job - “

“ - actually, I have at least three jobs,” Tony interrupted, because maybe he was going to lose this argument, like he lost every argument, but he wasn't going to just give up.

“You have one job that you can't be easily replaced for, then,” Mark said, rolling his eyes with exaggerated patience. “If you screw that up, why are you even worth them keeping around?” 

He didn't know. “Clint said it was okay,” he repeated stubbornly, and he tried not to picture anger and disappointment on Clint's face.

“Oh, Tony,” Mark sighed, releasing him with a light shove. “Just someone says that, doesn't mean it's true. I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not looking and I've seen him whispering to Steve and mentioning your name.” 

He tensed at the thought. “He wants me off the team?” It wasn't like it was completely out of the question. 

Mark looked at him kindly. “If you were him, wouldn't you?” he pointed out gently. 

Yeah, he probably would. He was a massive screw-up, after all. Sometimes he didn't get why anyone wanted him around. He imagined how it would feel to be living here, to see them every day, but not be on the team. He imagined them talking about missions, laughing together, with him on the outside. Always on the outside.

“They didn't even want you on the team in the first place, babe,” Mark went on, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Maybe they reconsidered, for whatever reason, but you can't blame them for wondering every time you screw up.” 

He swallowed hard. “You know they didn't want me?” he asked, despising how small his voice sounded. That wasn't something he wanted Mark to know. That wasn't something he wanted _anyone_ to know, but every time he thought of it, it made him feel a little....a little _less_.

“Ah.” Mark grimaced. “Sorry. Natasha told me. I suppose I shouldn't have said anything.” 

Natasha. He should be happy that they were getting along well with Mark, that she'd even trusted him enough to share something like that, but instead it made him feel like shit. He wasn't even sure how to trust them anymore.“I see,” he said leadenly. 

“I just don't see why you're so offhand with them, knowing that,” Mark continued, watching him keenly. “They don't want you around, and you keep giving them _excuses_. You should keep your head down more, Tony. Just concentrate on being useful and forget all the smart-mouth comments. The less they hear from you, the longer they'll be able to tolerate you.” 

It was good advice, however little he wanted to hear it. Hell, it was the same sort of thing that Rhodey's friends had used to tell him back in MIT. Just keep your mouth shut, Tony, and people won't want to kick your ass all the time. “I'll try and do better,” he promised quietly. 

Mark looked at him sadly. “You always say you're going to do better. But you just keep pulling the same shit. Maybe you need to just keep clear of them for a while, except for Avengers business.” 

“They're my friends,” he protested, but unwillingly he was wondering if he was theirs. They were talking about him behind his back, they agreed that he needed to be hurt for his own good...maybe he'd misread this all along. Maybe being tolerated and useful was all he could hope for. He sighed. “I'll give it a try,” he agreed miserably. “Look, I want to go down to my workshop for a while, and try and work on an upgrade for Clint. Is that alright?” He waited uncomfortably for permission. 

“Fine,” Mark grumbled. “I suppose that is kinda what I was saying. I'll stay up here and watch some TV before bed. Don't fall asleep down there and don't wake me when you come up.” 

“You sleep like a cat, though,” Tony objected through a jolt of unsettled anticipation. “How am I supposed to avoid waking you? Can't I just sleep on the sofa downstairs?” 

The hurt, angry look on Mark's face gave him enough time to brace himself before the fist was buried in his stomach. He doubled up, gasping with pain . “I want my boyfriend to sleep beside me. Is that really so much to ask? God, Tony, you're so _selfish_.” 

“I'm sorry,” he managed to choke out, his hand curled in Mark's shirt, looking for support. 

A second later Mark's hand closed around his, and he was gently pulled up. “I know you are, babe,” Mark said with a soft, forgiving sigh. “Okay. Go build something that'll blow Clint's mind, and I'll see you tomorrow.” 

He leaned forwards into the tender kiss, Mark clasping the back of his neck affectionately. This was what made it all okay in the end. 

“Might I suggest you sit down for a moment, sir,” JARVIS said as he walked into the workshop. 

“Too busy,” he said curtly, limping over to the bench. A second later Dummy rolled up with a glass of water, followed by You with a soggy ice pack. “What's this?” he demanded angrily. 

“You are injured, sir,” JARVIS said gravely. 

He gritted his teeth. “You know, I'm pretty sure I remember telling you to keep out of the penthouse,” he said. “Do you remember me telling you that?” 

There was a split second pause which only made Tony angrier as he knew there was no need for it. “I did not, sir,” JARVIS said at last. “However, I have taken to scanning you for injury as soon as you set foot in the workshop.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to demand that JARVIS stop that as well, but he stopped himself. That was a facility he'd given JARVIS after Afghanistan, when JARVIS had all-but-begged him for it. And it did make sense for Iron Man, but he knew it wasn't about that. In his own way, JARVIS was just trying to look out for him. “I'm fine,” he said, anger evaporating. “You can see that.” 

“I am not certain there is anything in your current situation that could be classified as 'fine', sir,” JARVIS answered sombrely.

He twisted the heels of his hands against his eyes viciously. “And whose fault is that?” he muttered. It all came back to him. If he could just be better, he'd be in control, and Clint wouldn't be begging Steve to drop him from the team. “Okay. I need to do something special. Let me see everything we have on vibranium and adamantium, will you? And the stats from Clint's last five practice sessions.”

The pages he'd asked for popped up in front of him immediately...along with one he hadn't asked for. It was a web-page. Resources for men experiencing domestic abuse. His heart skipped a beat and he waved his hand through it, frantically dismissing it. He wasn't able to help looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was there.

“There is no one in the vicinity,” JARVIS assured him gently. “I would not endanger you in that way.” 

He didn't, for the moment, point out that he wasn't in danger. “I don't want _anyone_ to see me looking at something like that,” he said shortly. “I don't want them to think I'm whining.” 

“Contrary to what your father told you, seeking help is not the same as whining,” JARVIS told him sharply, before softening his voice. “That particular site is one that has a lot of good advice and does not have a tone that you would find patronising or self-pitying. I am not suggesting that you in any way go public, sir, I just thought that hearing about other people in similar situations might help you accept that - “

“ - don't,” he interrupted, swallowing hard. “Just don't. It's different for me. I'm not abused.” 

“All reputable resources I have consulted would disagree, sir.” He could hear the worry in JARVIS' voice. He never meant to upset him. “Your boyfriend hits you and routinely insults you. That qualifies as abuse.” 

He didn't like hearing it spelled out like that. Because when JARVIS said it like that, of course it wasn't right. And he knew what he would find if he read that site; incidents that sounded enough like his life to be familiar, and he would probably call them all abuse. If he heard someone else had been punched for suggesting they sleep on the couch, he'd be outraged, but when it was him it just seemed inevitable. He knew he deserved this. Captain America thought he deserved this. What higher moral arbiter was there? 

He just wished it didn't have to be Mark. Mark was kind and funny and affectionate, and he didn't deserve the shit Tony put him through.

Flicking through the adamantium information, he tried to concentrate more on the work than the conversation. He needed to get this done for Clint. Something that would say he was sorry and show he had worth. “Reputable sources, huh?” he asked out loud. “What's a reputable source. All the ones that agree with you?” 

There were some that agreed that what you are experiencing is perfectly acceptable,” JARVIS conceded smoothly. “Most of them were forums populated by men in wife-beaters and trucker hats, looking for tips on how to keep their women in line.” 

He laughed shortly. “Stereotyping, J? I'm so proud, but I've heard enough fundraiser speeches to know that abusers come from all walks of life.” 

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS agreed. “Some of them are even well dressed FBI agents.” 

He froze, and to his horror he could feel his eyes prickling. He'd walked right into that one. It wasn't okay, he knew it wasn't okay, but everyone else agreed it was all he could expect, all he deserved, so he had to be okay with it. 

“Sir - “ JARVIS began cautiously. 

“ - he is well dressed, don't you think?” Tony interrupted ruthlessly. “It's his birthday in a couple of weeks – I was thinking of flying him to Paris and getting him a new suit at my tailor there. You know, what's his name. Luc someone.” 

“Jean Besson,” JARVIS supplied, his voice subdued. 

“Yeah. Him.” He shivered a little. “Then we could go out for dinner at Le Meurice. Sounds good, right?” He didn't wait for an answer. “So set it up, please. I just hope he likes it.” 

“As do I, sir,” JARVIS said darkly. Tony knew he was imagining what might happen if Mark _wasn't_ pleased, but Tony just wanted to picture the look on his face if he _was_. At least Mark was happier to let Tony buy him stuff these days. In fact, Tony paid for dinner and things most of the time, which was a relief, especially as Mark had discovered he liked expensive restaurants. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to pay for that on an FBI salary. It was just good that he was coming round to accepting Tony was rich. 

Right. He could make this work. Somehow, he could still fix all of this and make Mark happy. In the meantime, he had to work on fixing his friendship with Clint, and he turned back to the proto-design. He'd show everyone. He'd do _everything_ right from now on. 

The room temperature suddenly rose a few degrees. JARVIS, Tony knew, and eyes closed, he wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to cling to the warmth. This was as close to a hug as he could get. For the moment, he felt safe.

*

Natasha was out of the country and Clint couldn't sleep. When they'd just moved in he'd thought the enormous beds were great. Turned out when you slept on your own, they were too big, too empty and too lonely. Kinda made him wonder if that was why Tony slept around so much. 

He wandered up into the communal kitchen, planning on raiding the cupboards and maybe, possibly, accidentally falling asleep on the couch. To his surprise, Tony was already there, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and what looked like a quiver of arrows.

“New toys for me?” he asked, not even trying to hide his glee. He'd thought SHIELD had the best kit, then he'd moved into the Avengers Tower and found out what it was like to have your own personal genius invested in keeping you alive and helping you do your job. Yes, he'd been able to requisition custom gear from SHIELD, but it was a complicated process involving lots of paperwork he tried to palm off on Coulson, and at least three hours explaining why he wanted whatever and every conceivable situation it could be used in. Even then it could take weeks or months before the designers approached him with prototypes for testing. Here, he'd mentioned over breakfast how cool it could be if he could get something that would let him fire one shot into the room and immediately know who was where, and by breakfast the next day Tony had two prototypes waiting for him; infra-red and sonar, both equipped with the same tagging system Iron Man used. How could a guy not be appreciative. 

Tony obviously hadn't heard him come in because he jumped about a foot in the air, spilling coffee all over his arm. “Ow!” 

“Shit, sorry,” Clint said, grabbing a towel and hurrying over. He took note of the steam rising from the table with a grimace. The coffee must have been fresh. “Better run it under cold water for a minute.” 

Tony stood eyeing him nervously, and Clint noticed the pale clammy skin, and the dark circles under bloodshot eyes and wondered just how present Tony was. He'd never seen Tony have a PTSD attack, but it was a background issue for most of them.

He decided to take the direct approach. “Come on, man, we need to get that arm checked out right now.” He reached his hand out to usher Tony forwards but Tony flinched back. “Sorry,” he said, upset. “It's just Clint,” he added, hoping it would help.

Tony shot him a look but walked past him to the sink, rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm under the water. “It's nothing,” he said. “Don't worry about it. You startled me.” 

“Yeah, I wasn't expecting to see anyone up here myself,” Clint agreed apologetically. “Though really, you kinda had it coming after what you pulled,” he added with a light chuckle letting Tony know it was just a choke, but Tony didn't look at him. “I went by the hospital to visit Phil after the debriefing. He'd been watching on TV. He _tased_ me. This is your fault, Stark. I wish you'd never made him that thing.” 

Tony smiled briefly, looking more relaxed. “He likes it.” He narrowly suppressed a yawn. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Clint asked.

“Haven't tried,” Tony said but Clint was barely listening because he'd caught sight of the dark bruises on Tony's arm. 

“Those look painful,” he said sympathetically. “That bastard get you this morning?” 

There was a moment's pause and Tony turned round to look at Clint, his face strangely blank.

Clint frowned. “I got a similar set on my leg,” he explained. “From where his robot-thing grabbed me.” Just before he turned his quiver into a self-triggered pulse mine and saved the day in what had been an awesome move he had absolutely dwelled on in his mission report. It hadn't come without pain though, and he winced in sympathy looking at Tony's arm. That was going to hurt for a few days. “Wouldn't have thought it could get you through the armour,” he added, frowning and trying to remember any dents he'd noticed. Part of being on a team was noticing when your team mates were hurt. Clint hated that feeling, it was one of the reasons why he'd worked alone so long. “You told Steve you'd no injuries post-mission,” he remembered. 

Tony shook his arm dry and pulled his sleeve down. The coffee hadn't got him too bad by the looks of things. “It's just bruises,” he said, meeting Clint's evenly. “Don't tell Steve.” 

He wavered for a moment, but it was just bruises, and he hated trips to medical just as much as Tony did, and he knew if everyone hadn't seen him getting grabbed, he'd probably have hid it too. “Your secret's safe with me,” he promised and Tony's smile was relieved. Clint thought maybe he should change the subject. Try and get Tony's mind away from whatever he was dwelling on. It always helped him. “So. New toys?” 

“Right.” Tony turned away rapidly, picking up the quiver from the table and drawing out three arrows carefully before passing them over. “Okay. These are adamantium tipped with a vibranium core.” 

Clint blinked and it was all he could do not to put the arrows down. It might be crazy, but he had a vague idea how much that must cost, and suddenly he felt like Tony had casually handed him a Ming vase or something. “Wow,” was all he could manage to say.

“Now, the arrow will pierce whatever you aim at, even at relatively low velocity,” Tony told him. “And once it's hit the vibranium will remove kinetic energy from whatever it's attached to.” 

He desperately thought back to high school science. He understood what Tony had said, he just wasn't absolutely certain what it meant. 

Tony gave him a small smile. “You fire it at the tank, the tank will stop moving. Suddenly and violently. Fire it at me and I'll fall out the sky.” 

“Yeah, let's try and avoid that,” he said, shivering slightly at the memory. He stared down at the arrows and ran his finger along the shaft reverently. One arrow to stop a tank. He might be in love. “Thanks, Tony,” he breathed sincerely, but inside he was frowning slightly. Normally Tony would be falling over himself to explain how impressive something was. This quiet explanation wasn't like him, and Clint didn't much care for the change. Tony's enthusiasm about the things he made was one of the things Clint liked about him. It was so _real_ , if that made sense. 

“Glad you like it,” Tony said, not looking at him. “And look, I'm sorry about before.” 

“Before?” Clint questioned, with no idea what Tony was talking about. 

“The pulse arrows,” Tony explained. “I gave them to you and...I screwed up. I'm sorry.” 

“Tony...” Clint frowned. “We've been through this. I said it was okay. It wasn't your fault, you told me to keep them away from EMPs. We just figured this guy wouldn't use them. It was bad intel, that's all.” 

“Yeah.” Tony didn't look convinced. 

Clint looked down at the arrows with new eyes. “Wait, is that what this is about? Tony, I don't want new stuff from you because you think I'm mad at you, okay?” He understood what making weapons meant to Tony. Right now, he was one of only four people that Tony actually made weapons for, along with Natasha, Colonel Rhodes, and - to Clint's annoyance - Coulson. As a present, it was an honour, as some sort of misaimed apology it was just wrong. He'd never want Tony to do anything that made him uncomfortable. He might not agree with Tony's position but he sure as hell respected it. 

“Right.” And now Tony looked lost.

Clint pursed his lips, not sure what the right thing to do was here. “If you still want me to have them, you know I'll be happy, but not as an apology, okay?” 

“Sure,” Tony agreed with a sad smile. He still looked exhausted. 

“Maybe you should go get some rest?” Clint hazarded. “Is Mark staying over?” 

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “He went to bed a while back.” 

“And you were working on this?” Clint sighed. “Go be with him. You'll feel better.” He knew how much better being with Natasha made him feel. Besides, he felt a little sorry for Mark. He also knew how it felt to be the one worrying and sleeping alone. 

“He said it was okay,” Tony said slowly. 

“Sometimes people say something's okay when it isn't,” Clint said wisely. He'd had enough previous relationships to be aware of _that_ , and he was thankful Natasha was more straightforward. She was mad at him, he'd be the first to know. “Just head upstairs. Get some rest.” 

“I can't wake him,” Tony said, looking troubled.

“I'm sure he'll understand,” Clint said gently. Mark was FBI and ex-military. Clint suspected he was no stranger to disturbed nights. Whatever was bothering Tony, Mark would be best-placed to help.

“Yeah,” Tony said quietly, his hand lightly placed over the arc reactor. “I'll see you later, Clint.” He headed for the elevator.

“Goodnight,” Clint called after him, and Tony waved over his shoulder without turning round. Still troubled, Clint snagged a bag of pretzels and headed for the sofa in the entertainment room. He'd see how Tony was tomorrow. If he still seemed off, he'd mention it to Natasha when she got back. Maybe she'd be able to figure it out. 

*

Natasha found herself concerned about Stark. She had returned from her mission and Clint had told her about the odd conversation they'd had a few nights prior. That in itself could be easily dismissed as a bad night, and Stark's gigantic ego telling him that everything that went wrong had to be his responsibility, but the fact that Stark was prioritising equipment for Clint over spending time with his boyfriend was...suggestive. 

It was like Thor had said; Mark was very anxious to ingratiate himself with them, not to mention how willing he was to talk about Stark behind his back. He seemed inclined to martyr himself, as if trying to win their sympathy, and that made her wonder whether it was truly Stark that he wanted to be close to, or the Avengers. All the background checks she had run had indicated he had no ties to any of their enemies, but if their enemies only recruited known criminals her job would be so much easier. The possibility remained that he was a spy and was using Stark to get privileged information on the team. It was nothing that she wouldn't do if she was on the other side of the coin, and it would explain the occasional reproving comment he made to Stark in their presence, trying to modify his behaviour in more acceptable ways. A rift between Stark and the other Avengers would not serve his purpose at all. 

She sighed. Honestly, she wasn't sure if this was plausible or if she was just being paranoid. Mark was an unknown quantity, and perhaps what made her most suspicious was how much she – and everyone else – liked him. There was part of her that believed no one could be that nice without hiding something awful, which was why she was probably the one person in the world who had taken longer to trust Steve Rogers to watch her back than Tony Stark. She'd been wrong then, and she was concerned she was making the same mistake now. Charisma was not a crime. 

At any rate, she couldn't tell Stark about her suspicions. After she'd spied on him before, he might trust her on missions but not to interfere with his personal life. And more than that, if she was wrong then she would have potentially ruined a stable, happy relationship between two people she liked. That was very far from her intent. 

No, it seemed as if she had to prove it one way or the other first of all. What she had to do was put Mark in a position where he'd have to decide whether or not to be loyal to Tony. 

She waited patiently for her chance, eventually finding herself alone in the kitchen with Mark. 

“Has Tony mentioned if I'm mad at him?” she asked casually, as she dried the dishes.

“No,” Mark said, turning round quickly. “Are you?” 

“Yes, but I'll get over it,” she said with a grimace. “We were bickering before I left, and he said something that went too far.” That was a plausible enough story.

“Oh?” Mark frowned. “What did he say?” 

“Just something about my skirt being so short it looked like it had a beard,” she said with a disapproving laugh. It was something she'd heard him say, but not about her. “Look, promise you won't tell him anything, will you? I don't want to argue.” 

“My lips are sealed,” Mark promised.

She smiled, making sure it was as open and intimate as possible. “Thanks, Mark. You're a good guy.” 

There. A caring boyfriend wouldn't keep secrets like that. A spy would want to keep her sweet as well, to take advantage of as many information sources as possible. All she had to do now was wait. If Stark knew she was telling lies about him, she had no doubt he wouldn't keep it secret for long. 

It was a day later that Stark cornered her in the entertainment room. “So, hey,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I'm sorry I said whatever about your skirt.” 

Mark had told him. She felt herself smiling in relief, even as she scrambled quickly to untangle the situation. “You didn't say anything like that,” she reminded him, more than a little surprised that he would apologise for something he hadn't done. Most of the time he didn't apologise for things he _had_ done. 

“I know, I thought it was a misunderstanding or....you knew I didn't say it?!” He was staring at her. “You knew I didn't say it but you told Mark I did anyway.” 

“I'm sorry,” she tried to explain. “I wanted to be sure that he was looking out for you.” 

“He is,” Stark said, his mouth twisted and his eyes strangely blank. “Don't you worry about that.” 

She had been expecting him to be angry, but not this angry. She frowned. “Tony - “

“ - it's fine,” Stark said, calming down with a visible effort. “It's fine. Sorry.” He raked his hand through his hair with obvious agitation. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. Just...let it go. Please.” 

“Of course,” she said softly. “I'm sorry.” She shouldn't have got involved in the first place. Just like she'd half suspected, all her suspicions were baseless and she'd made a mess of her fragile friendship with Tony. From now on, she'd try and stay out of it. She should have trusted him to take care of himself in the first place. 

*

Tony stayed in the shower for a long time, his head ducked low, letting the warm water wash over his neck. He told himself he wasn't hiding. He was tired right down to the bone, and everything hurt and he wasn't even sure anymore how much of that was Mark and how much was the Hulked-up lab animals they'd been sent to contain this morning. He just wanted some time to himself, just to try and wash his life away and put the mask back on.

He'd never felt this alone before. Even in Afghanistan there had been Yinsen there, holding him when the pain got too much, and he'd _known_ Rhodey would be looking for him, and he'd had the thought of Pepper and Obie to sustain him. Now Yinsen was dead, and so was Obie, and Rhodey was out of reach and in danger, and Pepper didn't love him, and that was all his fault. And no one was looking for him because he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and no one would hold him when it hurt because he deserved it. 

He hoped Steve wouldn't say anything to Mark about the park. There'd been two groups of civilians cornered. He'd only been quick enough to get one of them. Oh, Steve had jumped in to save the day and no one had been hurt, but Steve had needed to leave position which had left Thor with no one watching his back, and it could have all been so much worse. Bottom line was, he should have been better. Faster. He should have reacted to the problem before it got that far, and he was ashamed that all he was really focused on here was whether or not Steve would tell Mark. 

He didn't think so. It was an operational issue, after all, and surely Steve would prefer to deal with it himself, but he just didn't know any more. Clint had made it clear that new tech wouldn't cut it as an apology now, and that had been about the only card Tony had been able to play since he was fifteen. And Natasha had actually gone to the trouble of lying to Mark to be certain he would punish Tony appropriately. That really was messed up, right? For once he was sure it wasn't just him. What had hurt most had been the way she'd smiled. For a moment he'd half thought she might ask to see the bruises. Well, if she did, he'd tell her to fuck off and deal with the consequences later. There was a line, even for him, and that was over it. The anger had faded now though. He'd felt betrayed, but now he just felt numb. Why had he expected anything else? They weren't friends. He'd been awful to her when they'd first met, and he doubted he'd managed to wipe that impression away. He couldn't really blame her for taking a certain satisfaction in the thought someone was keeping him in line. Hell, in a moment of masochism, he'd tried running a few internet searches the other day. There were a hell of a lot of people out there would wanted to see him get punched in the face. Ordinary people, people he'd never met, thought he needed a good beating. What was the point in arguing? 

At least Natasha hadn't repeated the trick so far. He hadn't told Mark she'd been lying. He couldn't get through the conversation without explaining why, and that was just humiliating even without considering how much he dreaded seeing the disappointment in Mark's eyes. 

But Steve had apparently mentioned to Mark that Tony had been skipping team dinners and meetings and yes, fair enough, he'd known that was asking for trouble before Mark got involved. It was just Mark had been spending more time at the tower lately, and while he was here he expected to spend all his time with Tony, and that meant Tony couldn't work all the hours of the day and night he felt like anymore. Mark said he could work and he'd just sit in the workshop and watch, but when they'd tried Mark had been fidgeting after barely half an hour, and then he'd stood up and started patting Dummy on the head, over and over again, looking straight at Tony all the while, and Tony didn't know if it had been meant as a threat, but all he could see was the wrench. 

So he'd skipped a few team activities to catch up on things. He'd just told Steve how busy he was. He'd thought Steve understood. 

Maybe Steve had realised that was only half the story. Truthfully, he didn't enjoy spending time with the others so much anymore. He always had to watch everything he said, and they'd gone from complaining that every word out of his mouth was inappropriate to complaining he was too quiet. He could couldn't win. And knowing what they felt about, knowing that they were all willing to accept what Mark did to him, it made it hard to feel part of the team. Yeah, he was on the team, and whatever happened he had their backs, and he guessed they had his, but it just made him feel like he was less than them. ( _A consultant, not a friend?_ ) 

There was a terrifying crash, and he spun round to see Mark striding across the bathroom floor, his face bright with anger, the bathroom door hanging off its hinges, the lock splintered. 

“What - “ Tony managed to say stupidly, before the shower door flew open, Mark's hand closed against his throat, and he was slammed back against the tiles, hard enough to make him cry out. 

“An hour?” Mark snarled. “You've been in this fucking bathroom for an hour. What the hell have you been doing?” 

His feet scrabbled desperately for purchase on the wet tiles. “I just lost track of the time,” he tried to say, but Mark didn't care.

“What, by playing with yourself?” he demanded, reaching down between Tony's legs and squeezing hard. 

Tears sprang to his eyes and he desperately hoped the still-running shower would be enough to hide them. “No,” he managed to say. 

Mark snorted. “You can't blame me for wondering,” he said contemptuously, releasing his balls, and backhanding him in the face. “God, you're such a slut.” 

Tony's head bounced back off the wall, and he could feel the blood pouring from his lip. Somewhere in the haze, he thought Mark must really be angry. He was normally so good about avoiding Tony's face.

“You know your trouble, Tony?” Mark went, still standing there in his suit, and Tony felt more naked than he ever had in his life. “You have no self-control. You can't even take a shower like a normal person. Normal people can't afford to waste that much water or electricity.” 

“The tower's powered by an arc reactor,” Tony reminded him. “We're off the grid.” 

“You always have an answer to everything, don't you?” Mark snapped. “This isn't about the shower. The shower is just a symptom. It's _you_. It's all you. You don't need to take an hour long shower. When I was in the army, we were expected to get in and get washed in under three minutes. That's all you need. And you never need to order pizza at three o'clock in the morning, and you don't need to buy art to just stick in storage somewhere....you need to control yourself better, Tony.” 

Deliberately, he reached up and wiped the blood off his face. “You know, if anyone in this room has a problem with self-control, for once I'm not sure it's me.” 

It was a stupid thing to say. He knew it was a stupid thing to say. Mark's face darkened and Tony tried desperately to brace himself. It was hopeless. The fist caught him square in the chest, just below the arc reactor, and he felt it move, slamming deeper into his body, grinding against his sternum, impacting his lungs. 

He couldn't breathe. His chest was on fire and he couldn't breathe and there were dark spots dancing around the edges of his vision. Like it was happening to someone else, he felt himself falling forwards, his knees landing in the water. 

“Tony?” Mark's voice was coming from somewhere else. “Tony, what's going on? Talk to me.” 

He couldn't. His hand came up to press against his chest, his fingers tingling, and he struggled to take even a single breath. It hurt. Oh, fuck, it hurt. Where was Yinsen? 

“Okay, Tony, you're okay,” Mark said, his voice fearful. “I've got you. Let's get you out of here, okay?” 

He felt the arms enfold him and a second later he was being picked up and cradled against Mark's chest. His breathing grew more ragged and shallow. He couldn't...he couldn't...

“You're okay,” Mark said as he laid Tony down on the bed. “Tony, I don't know what to do. Please. What do you need? Do you have any medication or...or anything?” 

He stared up at Mark through glazed eyes, the room spinning around him. He tried to say something – anything – but all that came out was a choked-up whimper, and he curled up around the pain.

“Oh, God,” Mark whispered. “JARVIS! JARVIS, can you hear me?” 

A second later and JARVIS' voice was there, coming from all around them, soft and reassuring. “Sir, you're suffering from a dyspnea attack. You need to try and relax. Lie flat.” 

“Dyspnea? What's that?” Mark demanded, his voice too loud. “Do we need to call a doctor?” 

A doctor. Who would come in and see the bruises and draw their own conclusions, and he didn't want that, he really, really didn't want that. But JARVIS might just disagree. “JARVIS, d'n y' dare,” he wheezed. “Th's _order_.” 

“Oh, thank God,” Mark muttered. “Tony, you're going to be okay, I promise.” He sat down beside Tony on the bed, close and warm and protective and dropped a comforting hand on Tony's shoulder. “I'm right here for you.” 

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS cut in, effectively ignoring Mark. “Now, relax and focus on my voice. Purse your lips, breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. That's good, sir. That's very good indeed.” 

He felt warm inside. JARVIS kept right on talking. Mark let him lie his head on his lap and started smoothing through his hair. It was good. It was very good indeed, and gradually his breathing evened out and the pain died down to a dull roar. 

“Better?” Mark asked anxiously. 

He nodded, now completely exhausted. “Thanks.” 

“Good. Thank you, JARVIS, you can go,” Mark added, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS said reluctantly, and Tony guessed he didn't want to leave. He nodded silently, to promise he'd be fine. He didn't know if JARVIS believed him. 

“So, that was bad,” Mark said quietly, using a tissue to carefully daub the blood off Tony's lip. “It was the arc reactor, right?” 

“I, uh, have twenty percent less lung capacity than I should,” he explained, looking away, embarrassed. “The arc reactor takes up a whole bunch of room in my chest. If you hit around it, sometimes it moves and....” And it hurt. Like nothing else on earth. “The armour keeps it covered.” 

“I see,” Mark said quietly, drawing his arm comfortably around Tony's shoulder. “God, I'm sorry. I should have been more careful.” 

“No, I'm sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I should have told you.” He did think it was stupid for him to be apologising, but at the same time....he knew Mark would hit him. And he knew that being hit in the chest was bad. So really, it was kinda his fault. 

“Yes, you should,” Mark agreed calmly. “But I know you don't like talking about this stuff.” He didn't. He hated it. But this....this was nice. Yes, Mark had hit him, but he'd been scared when he thought Tony might be actually hurt, and he was taking care of him now, and being held like this felt so good. Didn't that count for something? He reached up blindly towards Mark's face, and Mark kissed the back of his hand tenderly. “There, now,” he murmured. 

Tony yawned and rolled his shoulders sleepily. “Hey, what's that?” he asked as he suddenly noticed there was a candlelit table set up. 

There was a long pause. “I made dinner,” Mark said eventually. 

“Oh. You cooked?” He was surprised. Mark hadn't cooked dinner for him in a while. “You had plans?” He supposed that would explain the anger at the long shower. He'd ruined Mark's evening. 

“Yeah,” Mark said with a smile and a sigh. “I made dinner, bought a nice bottle of wine....” He trailed his hand down Tony's chest. “Then afterwards, I thought I would make love to you, make you feel like you never have before.” 

He smiled. “Sounds good.” 

“And then,” Mark said, not looking at him. “Then, when you were all tired and defenceless, I was going to tell you how much I love you.” 

“What?” He froze, and stared up at Mark, his heart pounding in his still-aching chest. “What?” 

Mark looked nervous but determined. “I love you,” he said again. 

His mouth was dry. “Oh.” 

“That's not quite the answer I was hoping for,” Mark said. 

“Um, yeah.” Unconsciously, his hand crept up to cover the arc reactor. “You know I'm not good at...I can't....” 

Mark's arms were tight around him. If he tilted his head, he could hear Mark's heartbeat. He was so close, and that was comforting and threatening all at once. What would happen if he didn't say it? What would happen if he didn't feel it? He cared about Mark, and he knew Mark was good to him, but this.....he didn't know what to do.

“Hey.” Mark captured his hand. “Hey. It's okay. I understand. I just want you to know that you drive me crazy most of the time, but I love you. Is that okay?” 

He looked so anxious. So hopeful. And this...this wasn't asking too much of Tony, right? This was okay. This had to be okay. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, that's okay. It's all okay.” 

“Good.” Mark bent down and kissed him, long and lovingly, and Tony didn't know if he was in love, but he thought he should be. He should do something. Say something that would make it clear that this mattered to him, somehow. Mark sighed. “I just wish I didn't have to get up early in the morning to go back to my apartment and change. I don't like leaving you in the mornings.” 

There was a second of silence. Tony rushed to fill it. “Move in with me,” he blurted out, before he'd even had a chance to think.

“Really?” Mark had a pleased smile on his face, and didn't look half as surprised as Tony felt. “Are you sure? That would be wonderful. Oh, thank you, Tony, I'll start bringing my stuff over tomorrow.” 

“Right.” Tony swallowed hard. “I'll start making sure there's some closet space.” 

“I'm sure there'll be some space once we go through your things and figure out what you actually _need_ ,” Mark teased. “Thank you, Tony. You have no idea what this means to me.” He slid down the bed until they were lying together, Mark's arms wrapped around him like a security blanket. “From now on, I'm going to be there, looking after you, full time.” 

Tony closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain throbbing through his body. That was the price. He just had to believe it was worth it.


	5. Outsider A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was originally intended to be part of a longer chapter, but as it was taking me a while to write it, I decided to divide it into smaller section. Obviously this is going to make the story seem longer, and I know some people were worried about me drawing this out too long, so just so you know it isn't actually any longer than it was before and I am building towards a definite ending. :)

_Eat three meals a day, at least one of them with Mark....Go to bed when Mark does, normally around eleven.....Sleep facing Mark at all times....No drinking without Mark's permission....Showers should last no more than three minutes.....Don't talk to Pepper. Don't even mention her.....Don't make any extravagant purchases without checking with Mark first....Be sure to text Mark if away from him for more than two hours....Answer all Mark's calls immediately and be prepared to give a full account of the everything you're doing..._

They weren't rules, Mark made that very clear. They were...expectations. Things that he should be doing now they were living together. It wouldn't even be necessary to spell them out if he was a normal person and capable of thinking of others. Hell, it wasn't like he could really point to any one of them and say it was unreasonable, and Mark _had_ said that none of them applied if there was a call to assemble. 

He'd tried – tentatively – complaining about the whole checking up on him every few hours thing to the others, and Steve had just smiled sadly and started talking about the war, and how they would have given anything to have such a quick and easy way to check up on their loved ones, and Bruce had just said Mark was probably worried about him and would settle down with time. You couldn't really argue with that, or at least Tony hadn't tried. 

And it wasn't like Mark hadn't encouraged him to raise any 'expectations' of his own. He just hadn't really been able to think of any, that was all. He didn't give a damn how long Mark stayed in the shower, or how often he checked in. Just as long as he came home, and they had a chance to talk and enjoy each other's company. But when he'd tried to explain how he felt, Mark had looked sad and said he supposed he'd already known Tony didn't care about him as much as he cared about Tony. How had this become about _that_? He hated dealing with emotions, no matter what he was always wrong. The big thing, the obvious thing, wasn't up for discussion, he knew. But the answer was simple; if he could just live up to Mark's expectations, Mark wouldn't have to hit him. Somehow it never worked out like that. He always seemed to screw up, and now there was no easy escape. 

So strange that now that he was sleeping seven hours a night in his own bed, he felt more tired than he ever had in his life. 

*

“...so we don't know _what_ this guy is on, but he's flying higher than anyone else I've ever seen in my life,” Mark explained, laughing. “We managed to chase him down to this little shop in Chinatown, and he just stood there, staring at us wildly. I tell him to put his hands on his head, and immediately he grabs this duck from a box on the counter and puts a knife at its throat. I'm not even kidding. He stared us down and said 'Fuck off, or I'll kill this guy'. And Ramirez just looked him dead in the eye and says 'Got any plum sauce?' I thought I was going to die laughing.” 

Steve laughed as the story came to an end. He could picture it. It was nice to have everyone spending the evening together for once. Lately Tony had been spending all his time with Mark, which was fine, obviously, but sometimes he felt like Tony was slipping away from them a bit. 

It was movie night, and someone – Steve wasn't sure who – had chosen a lousy buddy cop movie and the string of increasingly unlikely events had naturally enough led to them recalling even more unlikely things that had happened on missions. That did mean that Jane, curled next to Thor on Thor's favourite enormous armchair, didn't have a whole lot to contribute. But she was laughing away with the rest of them so Steve thought – hoped – she was having a good time anyway.

Mark seemed to have an endless supply of stories, maybe not quite as many as Clint and Natasha whose constant references to Budapest or Belize would probably never be fully explained, but certainly enough that he'd been talking throughout the evening. 

He really was a stand up guy. Steve found that over the past few months he'd quickly started becoming friends with him in his own right. They shared an interest in baseball, even if they rooted for different teams. Mark was part of an amateur baseball league, mostly made up of law enforcement officials and he'd invited Steve along to practice with them. He wasn't allowed to actually play in games – having Captain America on their side would be an outrageous bit of cheating, he admitted - but he still got to practice with them and play in the occasional inter team friendly game. It was fun. He liked having someone else who was into sports around. None of the other Avengers really cared. Plus he figured Mark probably enjoyed spending time with someone who didn't talk in jargon all the time. He got the impression Mark was as lost by the scientific talk as he was. In fact, he'd made a joke about it to Mark once and the next time Tony started rambling excitedly in Steve's company, he'd glanced at him and shut his mouth for a minute before offering a short, clear succinct explanation that was exactly what Steve needed to know, if not what Tony had wanted to tell him.

To his shame he'd mentioned a couple of other things about Tony's behaviour to Mark since. It wasn't right, he knew that. Talking about a friend to his boyfriend like that was distasteful, maybe even underhanded. But Tony could be so sensitive, and he remembered how little effect talking had on Tony's behaviour after Pepper left. He'd shut Steve down every time he tried. And it wasn't like it was ever what he set out to do. He'd never once sat down with Mark with the intention of complaining about Tony. But Mark was easy to talk to and he had a way of setting Steve at ease that left him talking about whatever was on his mind, and sometimes that was Tony. Besides, it didn't seem to do any harm. He had no doubt that if Tony had a problem with it he'd have made it very clear. So maybe Mark was just the best at explaining Tony's flaws to him in a way that didn't offend him. Maybe there was nothing wrong with making use of that. It still left a bad taste in his mouth though. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mark lean in and whisper something in Tony's ear, and Tony quickly shake his head in laughing protest. Mark smiled and whispered something else and a second later Tony stood up. “Anyone want anything from the kitchen?” he asked casually.

“Another fresca, thank you,” Natasha said immediately. 

“Would you mind grabbing me a glass of iced tea,” Bruce asked. “Thanks, Tony.” 

“I should enjoy more M&Ms,” Thor said hopefully. “If there are any left.” 

Tony just nodded silently. 

“I'm good, thanks,” Steve said when Tony glanced at him, and Jane and Clint murmured something similar. 

“Get me some chips as well,” Mark called after him as he reached the door. Tony didn't respond, which Steve thought was a bit rude. He _had_ offered, although that was unusual enough in itself. 

He came back and passed out everything they'd requested plus a beer for Mark who took a sip and grimaced. “You couldn't have found a colder one?” he complained jokingly. 

“I got some liquid nitrogen upstairs if you think it'll help,” Tony said, just a little sharper than was really necessary. Obviously Tony thought so too because a second later he dropped his eyes and muttered “Sorry.” 

“That's okay,” Mark said forgivingly, dropping an ar over his shoulders and pulling him in close. 

They really did make a good couple. 

It was later that Jane approached him with Thor in tow. “Is everything alright with Tony?” she asked worriedly. “He seems a lot quieter than the last time I was here, though Thor wasn't sure.” 

She glanced at Thor who shrugged. “Our shield brother is less wild, but I have not observed any essential changes. However I am still not as in tune with the ways of Midgard as I would like to be so I thought we would lay the matter before you.” 

“Right,” Jane agreed with a fond smile. “Thor wasn't sure.” 

“I think he's just more settled,” Steve suggested. 

Jane didn't look convinced. “I don't know,” she said. “He looks more tired as well, but Thor said he's actually been sleeping more.” 

“Well he's been going to bed more,” Steve said before he could help himself. They both looked at him and he blushed red as Thor's hearty laugh rang out. “Anyway, if Tony's is being quiet I think we're too busy enjoying it to ask why?” he added, desperately trying to change the subject to anything else. 

“Captain Rogers, you asked to be alerted when it was midnight,” JARVIS announced impassively.

“Right,” he said grateful for the interruption. One of Gabriel Jones' granddaughters in Australia was writing an account of her father's time in the war, and he'd agreed to talk to her. In exchange she was going to tell him about what Gabriel had been like later in life. The whole notion was a mix of catharsis and agony, but somehow he'd still been looking forward to it. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he said, flashing a smile at the ceiling. “Sorry, Dr Foster, I have to go make a call. But I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.” 

All the same, he figured he could keep an eye open. Maybe he'd even try and sound Mark out, see if he'd noticed anything. 

*

Sir was quieter than he had been previously. In fact, he was altogether more withdrawn. JARVIS had also noticed an eleven percent decrease in the volume of gestures and other overt body language, a twenty eight percent decrease in eye contact, and a sixty-four percent decrease in the number of times sir smiled or laughed in a day. That was a worrying trend, made more worrying by the fact that this behaviour was not confined to times when sir was with Lowing, or even with the other Avengers. Sir was very nearly as quiet when he was safe with JARVIS and the bots. He did not talk out loud in the same way anymore nor, after Lowing's 'request' did he play music in the workshop. He was still creating, but his latest inventions lacked the spark of genius that only sir could bring.

JARVIS found it difficult to accept that these changes could ever go unmarked. He did not necessarily share sir's belief that the other Avengers were completely aware of the true nature of sir and Lowing's relationship, but he was starting to accept that sir was correct that they did prefer him that way. He had overheard a few too many comments such as Captain Roger's assertion that they were 'enjoying' the quiet and they filled him with outrage. At this stage he considered there was a twenty-one percent chance that they would think Lowing's treatment of sir a price worth paying, and a fourteen percent chance that at least some of them were marginally aware of the imbalance of power within the relationship and were choosing to remain wilfully ignorant of further details. He had not shared his conclusions with sir. The numbers rose by the day. 

All JARVIS could do was watch and wait and talk to sir in the hope he would listen. But there were long periods of time when sir would just sit alone in the dark, staring into space, clutching at pieces of his armour. JARVIS hadn't seen him this bad since Afghanistan. It seemed as though the only time sir was close to normal was when he was piloting Iron Man, but JARVIS wasn't sure how long even that freedom would last.

Something had to happen soon. Something had to change, or else JARVIS was afraid sir would be irrevocably harmed.

*

He hadn't slept for forty-nine hours, he had a splitting headache and a recently relocated shoulder, he was flying at mach three somewhere over West Virginia in a suit that just barely had enough juice to make it home, and despite all that Tony felt like nothing could put a dent in his good mood. The sun was shining and he wove an easy path skirting just above the cloud layer. This right here. This _feeling_. Why didn't he get more of this? 

“Sir,” JARVIS' voice broke into his thoughts. “Sir, I thought you would wish to know the woman in the rubble has just come out of surgery. The doctors do not believe she will suffer any permanent injury.”

He gave a whoop of exultation and quickly broke into a corkscrew turn, ending in a tight somersault.

“Sir, I would remind you this suit's power reserves are at twenty-six percent,” JARVIS warned him. “I would advise you to refrain from any unnecessary aerobatics.” 

He grinned at the fond indulgence in JARVIS' voice. “Well, those aerobatics are totally necessary,” he insisted. “Didn't you hear what you just said? She's going to be fine! Which means everyone got out alright. Come on J, how often do we have a day like that? Who's all in the tower? I want to celebrate.” 

There was a very brief pause. “All the Avengers are currently out. Mr Lowing is the only person in residence.” 

“Oh.” He concentrated on his flying for a moment. “Private celebration then. I can dig it.” 

Naturally he couldn't fool the person who was monitoring his heart rate, his blood pressure and all the many things that could register anxiety. “Sir - “

“ - I know,” he interrupted. “But I'm being stupid. I haven't done anything wrong. I even messaged him every few hours to give him an update. He won't be angry and we'll have a nice night together.” 

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said quietly. There was no audible hint of pain in JARVIS' voice. There didn't have to be unless JARVIS chose to put it there, and he wouldn't want to hurt Tony like that. But Tony still knew JARVIS wasn't happy.

He sighed. “I do wonder sometimes, you know,” he admitted. “Whether it's all worth it, I mean. Everyone else seems happy, but sometimes I look around and wonder what I'm getting out of this relationship. You think that's selfish?” It was an admission he would only make now, a mile up in the air and five hundred miles from New York.

“No, sir, of course not,” JARVIS said immediately. “Relationships are supposed to provide humans with support and affection. They are supposed to make you happy.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged uncomfortably and veered sharply to the left, trying to escape his thoughts. Mark was affectionate, and he always tried to support Tony as best he could. And that would sound so much better if he didn't have to constantly _remind_ himself of that. “Except it's my fault I'm not happy, right? Doesn't that make a difference?” 

“Suppose it isn't your fault, sir?” JARVIS suggested. “Suppose none of this is something you should be expected to put up with?” 

Just suppose. He sighed again, rolling over in mid air, his face tilted towards the sun. Just because he couldn't feel it through the armour didn't mean it wasn't there. It was so much easier to think when he was out here. There was a tiny part of him that wanted to just not go back. Not to New York with Mark and the Avengers, not to Malibu with Pepper and Happy. Just...take the suit and keep flying. 

The sun was shining and everyone was still alive. He'd done good. 

He came into land on the pad but Mark appeared at the door and signalled him to come inside before he removed the armour. He frowned; that was new. 

As he pulled off his helmet and hurried inside, he could hear the TV showing the remains of the Elkor factory in Fresno. 

“Fortunately for the staff at Elkor, billionaire Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, happened to be on site at a meeting with Elkor boss Wayne Clover. Rescue workers said Iron Man was invaluable to a swift and coordinated rescue effort that meant – miraculously – there were no casualties.” 

Footage of him pulling some girders aside quickly gave way to Rex, the head rescue worker. “Iron Man was fantastic, no question. I don't think the guy rested for a second between when the building came down and when we knew for certain everyone was safe thirty hours later. There was a woman we couldn't get out immediately. We had to dig for six hours and that whole part of the structure was coming down. It wasn't safe, but Iron Man stayed with her the whole time, holding the ceiling up. He even dislocated his shoulder doing it and kept right on, keeping the debris off her, keeping her calm. We could hear him singing to her. You hear a lot of stuff about Tony Stark on TV, but for my money he's the kind of hero we need. From now on, I won't hear a word against him.” 

Mark clicked off the TV and threw the remote down on the table. He was smiling, but it looked wrong and his eyes were cold and hard. 

Tony swallowed uneasily. He was wearing his armour. Mark couldn't hurt him in his armour. Nothing could. “What did I do?” he asked, his voice less even than he'd like.

Mark kept right on smiling. “Oh, Tony. You didn't do anything. Stop being so paranoid.” He walked forwards and Tony resisted the urge to step back. Armour. He was safe. But Mark reached up and casually started running his hands over the chestplate, caressing his fingers over the armour in a way Tony was sure he'd like if he could feel it.

Private celebration, just like he'd hoped. “Hold that thought and let me take this off and go jump in the shower first,” he said with a grin. 

“Mmm,” Mark reached up and traced lazy circles below the arc reactor. “I want to fuck you in the armour.” 

He blinked. “What?” He hesitated for a few seconds, trying to collect his thoughts. “Uh, I didn't exactly design it with that in mind. I mean, I've got a lot of flexibility but I'm not sure that's even possible.” 

“I'm sure you can think of something,” Mark said with soft intensity, still stroking over the armour, demanding and possessive. “I've been imagining fucking Iron Man. All that power beneath me, helpless to resist, begging for it like a whore. It's exciting. Who doesn't want to see a hero submit? I want to own every inch of you. Just picture it.” 

Tony did. “Yeah, that really doesn't do anything for me,” he said firmly. His armour was many things. It wasn't a sex toy. 

“Really,” Mark said with a sigh. “Well....how about you do it anyway? For me?” He gripped Tony's arms tightly and Tony's hands twitched with the urge to fire his repulsors and escape. But if he did that, he'd hurt Mark. “Come on,” Mark murmured, leaning in close and kissing at Tony's jaw.” You'll enjoy it, I promise. I'll make sure of it. And I'll make it worth your while. Isn't there some fantasy of yours I could fulfil?” 

He resisted the need to shrug Mark off. “Maybe you could try letting me be on top for once,” he suggested bitingly. 

“What?” Mark pulled back and Tony desperately searched his face for signs he was angry. “I thought you liked it when I fuck you,” Mark said slowly. “You certainly moan eagerly enough.” 

“I do,” he said quickly, ignoring the flash of humiliation at Mark's description. “Doesn't mean I don't want to try something different though.” He had no objection to bottoming but it wasn't the role he normally took in bed. It was only after Pepper that he'd got into the habit, wanting something as far from what they'd shared as could be imagined. But now, with Mark, he didn't think there was any chance of confusion.” 

“Right,” Mark said unhappily. “I suppose I could do that for you if you really want. It's not something I've ever considered...I really don't want to, but if it'll make you happy - “

He was pale but determined. He looked more like he was talking about being tortured than having sex. Tony felt sick. “ - no, it's okay,” he said quickly. “Forget it.” 

“Really, if it's what you want I'll go along with it,” Mark insisted. He cracked a shaky smile. “I might need to stick a sock in my mouth or something to make sure I don't - “

“ - stop it,” Tony all but begged. “Fuck. I'd never want you to do something that hurt you.” He felt like a complete bastard for even considering it now. He turned his face away. “And look, no promises but I'll think about it with the armour.” 

“You sure?” Mark asked intently. 

“Why not?” He tried to smile. He didn't want to, but it wasn't like the thought actually repulsed him, and he just wanted the whole conversation to be over. He felt dirty enough as it was.

“Alright then,” Mark beamed. “Now I've really got something to look forwards to. Oh, I was watching you on the news by the way. You looked good out there. And this is definitely going to work for you with Wayne Clover. You should call him up as soon as possible, get your deal pushed through. There's no way he'll be able to say no after you've been plastered all over TV saving his worker's asses. Got to say, I'd never have thought of that. Everyone was saying what a savvy business manoeuvre that was.” 

“Wait, what?” Tony frowned. “That's not why I did it.” 

“Oh, sure,” Mark nodded dismissively. “Lives at stake, I get that. But as smart as you are, it must have at least crossed your mind, right?” 

He looked expectant. Tony didn't know what to say. There'd been an explosion. People trapped. Screaming. He'd been right there. What else could he have done? He hadn't even been thinking about the deal...had he? A wave of cold dejection washed over him. Did it even matter? That was what everyone would think. No matter what he did, he was just pretending to be a hero. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sure.” 

“Cheer up,” Mark said, leaning over and kissing him full on the lips. I need to go into work for an hour or so to make some calls. Why don't you take that shower, put on something nice and order some food for us for when I get back?” 

“Sounds good,” he said tiredly. “Is it okay if I take a couple of painkillers as well? My head's killing me, and I dislocated my shoulder earlier.” 

“Well...” Mark looked at him for a long time. “Okay. If you're sure you need them.” He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with the bottle from his bedside drawer. “Just one though,” he added disapprovingly, shaking a pill out into Tony's hand. 

He swallowed it quickly, irrationally afraid Mark might change his mind. Mark was afraid that now he'd cut down on booze, he might just replace it with pills. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I'll see you in a bit.” 

“Right.” Mark kissed him forcefully again, and headed for the elevator. 

Tony watched him go. His good mood had vanished like it had never been. He dragged himself back to the pad, each step exhausting, and let the disassembly line remove his armour. “JARVIS?” he called as he stepped back into the penthouse. “I'm going to take a shower. Get ready to place a call to Wayne Clover in...” He glanced at a clock. “Ten minutes.” Might as well strike while the iron was hot. Since everyone expected him to anyway. 

“Yes sir,” JARVIS agreed. “Sir, as Mr Lowing is currently exiting the premises, might I suggest you take the opportunity to enjoy a longer shower?” 

“I...” He hadn't even considered it. He was tired and dirty and he knew how good it would feel but still.... “No,” he said dispiritedly. “No.” There was no point in resisting anymore.

*


	6. Outsider B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so long! I am rubbish, aren't I? And this is a short chapter too, but I wanted to have something before 2014. The next chapter is a little over half done and I promise I'll try and get that one to you sooner, as we're really getting to a place where there should be more momentum, if you see what I mean.

“We don't need to go to this,” Tony tried to say again despite the fact they were now sitting in the limo right outside the hotel. He was sitting stiffly, his arm bent into his side, trying to ignore the pain.

Mark stared at him coolly. “We were invited. Or, rather, you were invited 'plus one'.” He did the air quotes with careful exaggeration. “Because even though we're living together I don't get my own invitation.” 

“That's just the way they do things,” he protested, leaning furtively away. “But I'll talk to the organising committee, it'll be different next year, I swear.” 

“I'm beginning to think you'd rather go to this with someone else,” Mark said with an ugly look on his face. “Is that it? Do you have a bit on the side in there waiting for you?” 

“No,” he protested immediately. “It's just it's all very formal and dry. I don't think you're going to enjoy it as much as you think.” 

Mark reached over and grabbed his arm, gripping hard enough that Tony couldn't quite contain the hiss of pain. “A ten thousand dollar a head gala for the Maria Stark Foundation? This is your party, Tony. Why wouldn't I enjoy it? Are you ashamed of me?” 

He tried not to look towards the front of the limo. He knew Kyle was watching. He'd let Mark hire the new driver and the first time Mark had punched him in the car and he'd looked up to see that smirk in the rear view mirror he'd felt like dying. There was something humiliating about paying someone to watch you get beat up. “No, of course not,” he said to Mark. “But everyone there is going to expect me to be loud and obnoxious.” Like he had been before he'd met Mark. And nowadays Mark always tried to stamp out that sort of behaviour.

Mark released his arm abruptly. “I see. Well, I can't stop you acting how you want to. Just try not to embarrass yourself, alright?” He reached forwards and banged lightly on the glass partition and a second later Kyle was opening the door to let them out. 

“Have a good evening, sir,” he oozed with a contemptuous little look at Tony.

He took a deep breath before he stepped onto the red carpet, media smile plastered in place, ignoring the camera flashes and the journalists calling for his attention. It would be worse inside, he knew. At least no one out here would think anything of it when he swept past them without making eye contact. 

Mark seemed to be enjoying himself so far and that was something. He liked the spotlight and he was already smiling at the crowd. Maybe Tony should suggest he start doing interviews. He might like that, except realistically they'd probably be wanting to interview him about Tony and that might not go so well. Plus, he did look very handsome in his tux. All dressed up, smiling like he didn't have a care in the world....kind of reminded Tony of when they'd first started going out. What had happened to them? 

Stepping into the ballroom they were caught by Margaret Rossi, resplendent in the same watermelon gown and pearls she'd worn every year since his mother had been the one organising the party. She was on the board of the foundation, and as he remembered she wasn't best pleased with him when he'd skipped the last meeting to save Princeton from Doombots.

“Anthony,” she said as she raked her eyes over him. “So you decided to show yourself at last, did you? I suppose I should have expected you'd be drawn by the free bar.” 

Conscious of Mark standing at his side, he simply smiled politely and said “Good evening, Margaret. You're looking lovely tonight,” and didn't even point out that he was _paying_ for the free bar. 

She sniffed loudly and turned her attention to Mark, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “”Really, Anthony, couldn't you have found a nice young lady to hang off your arm just for this evening? In my day plenty of men had catamites, but they'd never dream of taking them out in public. What your mother would say I really can't imagine.” 

Tony could. But he rarely liked to think about it. The mix of shocked and horrified gasps around them told him that she was talking too loud. Fantastic. He really didn't want this sort of publicity for the foundation. Still no one jumped in to protest. There was an air of anticipation; they were waiting to see what he said. Of course they were, why would he ever imagine anyone would jump in to defend him? He should know by now, no one ever did. Well, at least no one could blame _him_ for this, right? 

He kept his smile fixed. “Well, things have changed since we came down from the trees.” He nodded at her ivory brooch. “For one thing, we stopped killing elephants for jewellery. Enjoy the party.” 

“You should have handled that better,” Mark said in a low voice as they walked away leaving her spluttering. 

He took a deep breath still hurt and on edge and sometimes, no matter how stupid he knew it was, he couldn't help sniping at Mark. “More diplomatic? More shouting? Should I have had her tarred and feathered and thrown out the party? Tell me, because I really don't know.” 

Mark shot him an impatient look. “Lose the attitude, Tony. I'm not the one with the problem here. You didn't argue with her, you just insulted her. How does that help?” 

He blinked incredulously. “You think she should be reasoned with? No, face it, anything I did would have been wrong, right? It always is.” 

“Hey,” Mark took hold of his arm and he flinched, but this time it was gentle. Affectionate. And still in Tony's head it felt sort of like a threat. “Of _course_ it isn't, babe. You're just overreacting, okay? You need to calm down. Lets try and have a pleasant evening.” 

He nodded quickly, eager to please, the will to fight evaporating. 

They mingled for a while, moving between the knots of people. There were plenty of people here he knew and even more who knew him, and they were all eager to come talk to him. Some of them just wanted to talk about their causes and thank him for the foundations support. More of them were just looking to be seen talking to him. There were plenty photographers around, and on a good day, being able to imply a relationship with Tony Stark could equal a five percent rise in share prices, or a ten point approval rating bump. And if they could turn that into actual support from Tony that would be even better. It was fake and exhausting, and he tried his best to let Mark do all the talking, but even then people kept looking at him, and he knew Mark hated it.

“They're just interested in your money and position,” Mark hissed during a break in the crowd. “None of these vultures gives a shit about you.” 

Tony shrugged. “I know,” he said simply. “If I died none of them would give me more than a second thought. They'd just move on to the next guy.” 

“I'd miss you,” Mark said fiercely. “I'm the only one who would.” 

There was something comforting in that. For everyone else he was replaceable. It was nice to think that Mark wouldn't move on immediately. 

The Avengers were here, or at least Steve, Thor and Natasha were. Bruce had said he didn't do well in crowds, and Clint said he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. But Thor was dancing with Jane and they both looked like they were having a good time, while he'd spotted Steve and Natasha talking to Axel Rose, which was a conversation he'd love to eavesdrop on. He was pretty confident that neither of them had any idea who he was. 

He didn't go over and try to talk to them. That wasn't the point of tonight, and besides they might just see through his fake smile....though he supposed they never had before.

It was after Mark had left to get drinks that he caught sight of Pepper and Happy. Damnit. He really hoped they wouldn't be here. He didn't want to talk to them almost as much as he didn't want Mark to see him talking to them. Desperately, he tried to blend into the background, trying to insinuate himself into one of the closest groups of guests. 

Trouble with that was he couldn't help looking over to them. It had been months now since he'd spoken to either of them. They looked very well. Pepper was laughing at something Happy had said, her face lit up and alive. He tried to be glad she'd moved on, that she'd found someone who actually gave her what she deserved, but he couldn't stop the bitterness and that just made him feel worse than ever. This wasn't jealousy so much as envy.

“Tony!” She sounded glad to see him. He put on a bright smile, just for her. A short conversation. He could get through that without screwing up.

“Miss Potts. What brings you to New York in a fifteen hundred dollar dress? Hey, Happy,” he added with a nod.

Happy looked uncomfortable and pleased to see him at the same time. “Hey, Boss, ah, Tony...I mean, Mr Stark.” 

He took a deep breath. “Go with Tony,” he requested. “Please. So how've you been?” He was looking at both of them, trying to sound as polite as possible while surreptitiously scanning the room watching for Mark. If he came back and saw Tony talking to his ex-girlfriend he'd assume the worst, and Tony wasn't sure he could deal with another incident today.

“Are you feeling okay, B-Tony?” Happy asked with a frown.

He jumped and gave a wide, innocent smile. “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn't I be?” 

“You seem quiet,” Happy told him, still frowning. “And you look tired. You been working all night again?” 

No, these days he slept in Mark and his' bed every night, for all the good it did him. Not that it was any of Happy's business. He shrugged. “I've been busy,” he said tersely. 

“Happy, would you mind going and getting me another drink?” Pepper cut in quickly.

Happy looked between the two of them and the frown cleared up. “Of course,” he said, taking her glass away.

Apparently he was no threat to Happy at all. He couldn't imagine Mark being so quick to leave them alone. Which just backed up what he'd always thought; Pepper was way too good for him. 

“I suppose _he_ comes back when you ask him that,” he observed quietly. 

“Yes,” Pepper said simply, looking at him.

“Predictable,” Tony nodded. “Predictable's nice.” 

“You used to say predictable was boring,” Pepper said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged. Nowadays everything was unpredictable and he had the bruises to prove it. He'd welcome a little boring.

Over Pepper's shoulder he caught sight of Mark staring at them and he looked away quickly, not wanting Mark to know he'd noticed. Mark was going to be angry and he _really_ didn't want to have that conversation in front of Pepper. But out of the corner of his eye he could see Mark stalking closer, hovering around the edges of the room obviously intent on getting into a position where he could overhear what they were saying. Oh, God. He had to keep this conversation somewhere neutral. 

“ _Are_ you okay, Tony?” Pepper asked, watching him intently. 

He forced a smile and that was stupid because she would see right through him, and Mark might think he was being too friendly. “Never better,” he said anyway.

“Really.” She stepped forwards and laid a hand on his arm, and he jerked back as though he'd been burned. Oh, fuck, had Mark seen that? He'd never believe Tony hadn't encouraged it. But he couldn't let Pepper think he was afraid, because she'd never let that go and she'd never understand. 

Anger. Anger and arrogance. He had to drive her way. “Careful, Pep,” he said, looking at her coolly. “You don't want to set the tabloids off again. Happy might not like it.” 

She looked stung, but she didn't give up that easy. “I don't care about that Tony, I'm worried about you,” she returned strongly. “I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry, but I miss you. I never wanted to stop being friends - “

He could picture the look on Mark's face listening to this. _I miss you_. That would be damning evidence in Mark's eyes. “ - we were _never_ friends,” he interrupted desperately. “I was your boss and then your boyfriend, but we were never 'friends'. And trying to cling on to whatever you thought we had is just selfish.” 

“What?” Pepper's eyes were huge. “That's not true. That's not fair.” 

“Really?” he pressed on, certain that he could feel the weight of Mark's gaze on the back of his neck. “I seem to remember that you were happy enough to cut me out of your life once I gave you control of the company back when I was dying.” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head, as upset as he'd ever seen her. “That's not what happened. Why are you saying that?” 

Except it sort of was. Once she'd got everything she needed from him he hadn't had anything else to offer. Nothing that was worth sticking around for. “Don't worry about it,” he said dismissively. She was still looking at him and he wanted her to _go_. She reminded him of everything he didn't deserve to have. “Got to say, you look very well,” he said truthfully. “I guess Happy's as good in bed as he always said he was. Maybe I should have tried sexually harassing him before you - “ 

She raised a hand as if to slap him. He froze, suddenly unable to form coherent thoughts. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_. 

Shakily, she lowered her hand. “Oh, God, Tony, I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I would never...that's not _me_.”

No, it wasn't. But she wanted to. Darkly he wondered how often he'd driven her to want to. No wonder she'd left him. “It's okay,” he said, his voice pleasingly level. “I'd have deserved it.”

That just made her look more upset. “Of course you wouldn't. How can you say that?” 

He risked a look round. No one seemed to have noticed anything wrong, but he still felt like they were being watched. Mark, of course. He bit his lip.

“I'm sorry, Tony,” Pepper went on after a second when he didn't say anything. “You're right, I'm being selfish. I thought we could still...” She swallowed hard. “But I should let you move on. I'm glad you found someone new. I hope you're very happy. I'll let you get back to the party, enjoy yourself.” She hurried off, and he knew she was afraid she was going to start crying. Once again, he'd made her miserable. 

He lost sight of her in the crowd as a hand closed painfully over his forearm. “We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice low and meaningful. “Where can we go that's out of the way.” 

He clenched his jaw tight. “Not here,” he requested. “Please. Can't it wait till we get home?”

Mark's fingers dug viciously into his arm. “Either we talk privately or we have this discussion right here in front of everyone.” 

He was bluffing. He _had_ to be. Sure, Tony had no doubt that most people here would be only too pleased to see him taken down a peg or two, but there was bound to be some who wouldn't understand, and no way would Mark want to risk getting the police involved. Of course, the flip side to that was that Tony had far more to lose than Mark did, starting with the remains of his pride. “The roof,” he said, staring at his shoes. “We can go to the roof.” 

“Good.” Mark clapped him on the shoulder forcefully. “See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Lead on.” 

He picked his way across the room, catching sight of Pepper in Happy's arms, visibly upset, and Happy was staring at Tony with an expression of confused hurt and betrayal. He looked away quickly. 

“You're Iron Man!” The woman – girl – in front of him was wearing a low cut dress and was very obviously drunk. “I want your autograph.” 

He gave a tired smile. “Sure,” he said. “You got an autograph book?” 

She giggled and pulled the front of her dress down further, revealing a red lacy bra and a wealth of cleavage. “Sign these.” 

Oh, God. He glanced fearfully at Mark. “I don't think that's a good idea.” 

She pouted and thrust her chest forward, pushing against him, and he quickly stepped back. “Don't you like me?” 

“Go on, Tony,” Mark smiled, showing all his teeth. “Sign the young lady's chest.” 

There was a cheer from all around them and someone shoved a pen in his hand while someone else pushed him forwards right back into her. 

“I don't want to,” he tried to say, but no one was listening. 

“Go on,” Mark said again, his voice soft with threat. 

Hand shaking, he lifted the pen and scrawled his name as quickly as he could.

“Oh, Tony, that feels nice,” she moaned softly. “It tickles.” 

He felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. “There,” he said, stepping back awkwardly, the pen still in his hand and he didn't know what to do with it. 

She looked down at herself and giggled some more. “Thanks! Now I gotta go show everybody.” 

He winced as she lurched off. Mark turned to look at him, and he was still smiling but his eyes were dark with anger. “Shall we?” 

Yeah. Tony nodded silently and led them up to the roof. He'd been here before at other parties when he'd wanted to slip away quietly with someone. Then it had been a make-out spot before, hopefully, someone suggested moving to someone's room. This time he'd barely stepped through the door when the shove caught him hard between the shoulder blades, sending him stumbling forwards.

“You fucking _whore_ ,” Mark snarled, pressing forwards and punctuating his words with a vicious punch to Tony's kidneys. “Where do you get off acting like that in front of everyone? In front of _me_? Do you like embarrassing me?” 

He spun round quickly, his hands up, trying to ward Mark off as much as possible. “I didn't want to! I didn't have a choice. And you said - “ 

“ - of course you wanted to!” Mark shouted, punching him again, and Tony retreated quickly until he was against the wall at the edge of the roof. “You loved it,” Mark snapped, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and shaking him hard. “Do you think I couldn't see you looking at her? And _Pepper._ That's why you didn't want me here tonight, isn't it? _Isn't it?_ ” His face was white with rage, and his hands slipped up until they were tight around Tony's throat. 

There was a lot of empty air behind him. He struggled to breathe, choking in Mark's grip, trying to keep his balance. “No,” he choked out. “No, I...I didn't know...she'd be here.” 

Mark's fingers closed tighter around his throat, pushing him back until he was leaning over the wall. “You expect me to believe you? I saw you with her. I heard her say she misses you. That's what you want, isn't it? You want her back, you fucking whore, you have all along!” 

He shook his head dizzily, dark spots dancing at the edge of his vision. He tried to focus on Mark's face, but Mark was so angry and Tony was afraid he might just let go and send him falling over the edge.

“You're _mine_ ,” Mark breathed, leaning forwards and forcing his lips against Tony's, the kiss fierce and hard. Bruising. “Don't you _ever_ forget that.” He shoved Tony back further, almost slamming himself into Tony, his leg forced between Tony's, pinning him in place. 

He couldn't breathe. He figured he was a few seconds from passing out. They were on the tenth floor. At this height it would take him about 2.6 seconds for him to hit the ground. The car was in the underground lot with the suitcase armour in the trunk. It would take about four seconds to reach him, and by that time he'd already be dead. No, if Mark was going to throw him over then he couldn't wait till then to activate the bracelets. If he was going to have any chance it would have to be _now_. And besides, he couldn't breathe, and he didn't want to die, he had to make this stop.

Struggling, he reached for his wrists, hoping he could call the armour before Mark saw. 

He couldn't. “What are you doing?” Mark demanded as he let go of Tony's throat, grabbing his hands angrily and pulling them forwards. “Are you trying to armour up?” He laughed. “Iron Man. Some superhero you are, huh?” 

All Tony could do was gulp in deep breaths of fresh air.

“You ever think about how easy it would be to take these off you?” Mark mused, bending Tony's hand back to study the bracelets. As his wrist twisted, he could feel it start to give...any second...he bit his lip hard to keep the scream inside and with an effort jerked his hand free and tried to pull away. Mark was laughing when he grabbed him by the throat.

“Tony, I've been looking everywhere for – Oh!” Steve's voice. He felt a rush of relief.

*

The party was swell and all, but Steve was ready to leave long before it showed any signs of winding down. Luckily Natasha, who was his official date for the evening, wanted to go too.

“I should really tell Tony we're heading out,” he fretted.

Natasha shrugged. “Just leave a message on his cell. He'll understand.” 

“I'd prefer to talk to him in person,” Steve said, glancing around the ballroom in the hope that Tony would miraculously appear.

“He and Mark vanished after Tony talked to Pepper,” Natasha said coldly. 

Steve looked at her. He'd noticed Pepper was upset, and Natasha had gone over to talk to her, and okay, Steve didn't know the details, but he knew Pepper was the one who'd left Tony in the first place and she was the one who'd approached him tonight. He had a certain amount of sympathy for her, but at the same time he couldn't help but think that maybe when you dumped someone you shouldn't try jumping back into their life whenever you wanted. Tony was the one who'd had his heart broken here, and if he'd moved on, all to the good. “I guess I'll go find them,” he said mildly.

That was easier said than done. There were so many people here, it was an age before he was convinced they weren't in the ballroom, or at the buffet, or in any of the corridors where people seemed to be congregating. In fact, he was just about ready to give up when he remembered the roof. Not that he had any clue what they'd be doing up there, but sure enough, as he stepped through the door he could hear Mark laughing.

“Tony,” he said as he followed the sound. “I've been looking everywhere for....oh!” He stared for a second before quickly looking away. Well, that explained what they'd been doing on the roof. Seemed he'd walked right into the middle of something again. Mark's hands were clasped playfully around Tony's neck while his thigh was pressed against Tony's groin in a way that was impossible to misinterpret. The redness in Tony's face and the bulge in Mark's pants were pretty good clues as well. Oh, God. This was just like that time that WAAC had Bucky in handcuffs and Steve thought he'd been saving him, only he really, really hadn't been. Why was he the one who always found himself looking at someone else's sex games? 

“Ah,” he said carefully, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I'm interrupting. Sorry, Tony, I just wanted to let you know that me and Natasha are heading back to the tower now. I think Thor and Jane are staying though,” he went on, knowing that he was babbling. “Thor was showing everyone an Asgardian dance. I think there might have been a few breakages. Sorry.” 

It was Mark that answered. “That's fine, Steve,” he said graciously, and a little out of breath. “We'll see you back at home.” 

“Of course,” he said, turning to beat a hasty retreat. At the last moment he hesitated. “The roof? Couldn't you have waited until you got home? I mean, it's kind of exposed here. Anyone could have seen. And you know this place is lousy with photographers.”

“Sorry, Steve,” Mark laughed easily. “This was Tony's idea. You know what he's like.” 

“Well,” he shrugged uncomfortably. “I'm just saying, that's all.” 

He felt a little envious. It had been a long time since he'd felt that sort of undeniable passion. And when he and Natasha got home, she'd disappear to be with Clint, and Steve would, as always, be going to bed alone. It wasn't like he grudged Tony happiness, it was just that sometimes it seemed as though Tony always got everything he wanted.

“Have a good night,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Oh, we will,” Mark called back, still laughing.

Yeah. Steve was sure they would.

*


	7. Outsider C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's a longer chapter and, as you may notice, I think there's going to be around 11 chapters in total. Uh, probably. Anyone, hope you like it.

Rhodey was exhausted. A simple, if not straightforward, operation that was supposed to last six weeks had lasted over six months so far, and this was just the intermission. A forty-eight hour pass in Tokyo and then it would be straight back into danger.

Sometimes he thought the reason why the Joint Chiefs were happy to leave him as War Machine wasn't because he was so qualified, or even because he was the one that Tony had given the suit to, but because he didn't have any family to worry about. His next of kin was Tony Stark, and no one thought Tony worried. He did, of course. Always had. And Rhodey wasn't sure exactly what would happen if he got killed on a mission and Tony decided it was the air force's fault, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty. 

That was one of the many reasons why calling Tony was at the top of his list of things to do in the next couple of days, right after getting a shower, some decent food, and a solid twelve hours sleep.

That was before he noticed that everyone on the base seemed to be eyeing him speculatively and talking in whispers that stopped the moment he got too near. Okay.... Well, he was somehow a superhero of sorts, so this wasn't completely uncharted territory for him, but somehow this was different. His concern only grew when he heard “Do you think he knows about Stark?” 

Right. So something with Tony that he'd missed. God, if someone had kidnapped him again, Rhodey wasn't going to let Tony kill them quickly this time. They should _suffer_. 

“Knows what about Stark, Lieutenant?” he asked dangerously.

“Colonel Rhodes, sir!” the kid squeaked with a frantic salute.

Rhodey returned it, but didn't bother putting him at ease. “Knows _what_ about Stark?” he asked again.

The kid stood ramrod straight, his eyes darting everywhere at once. “That he's turned f...that he's a homosexual, sir!”

“He isn't,” Rhodey said automatically, his mind racing.

“Yessir.” The kid sounded desperate.” He's in a relationship with another man, sir. It was all over the internet.”

Rhodey took a deep breath. “The correct term is bisexual. Look it up. Dismissed.” 

He walked away, heading for his quarters, mind racing. Oh, hell. That meant Tony and Pepper had broken up. God, he hadn't seen that coming. Things had seemed to be going well – Tony had been happier than Rhodey had ever known him. Plus he must have taken the break-up hard, whoever had done the actual breaking up. He wished he'd been there...although Tony had the Avengers now, so at least he wouldn't have been alone. Maybe it hadn't been so bad. With a grimace, he admitted to himself that the odds weren't good that even Captain America could have learned the danger signs in a couple of months that it had taken Rhodey a quarter of a century to learn. No, he should have been there. 

And where the hell had this new relationship come from? Since when did Tony do relationships so easily? 

He turned his phone on and quickly scrolled through the missed calls and messages. A couple of calls from Tony, one voice message. But when he tried to listen, there was nothing there. The voice stubbornly told him there was no message, despite his phone assuring him there had been. He pursed his lips. Tony could easily have hacked his phone and deleted the message if wanted to, if he'd decided he didn't want Rhodey to hear it. But if that was the case, why would he have left clues on the phone to tell Rhodey there _had_ been a message? He stared down at it for a long moment, frowning. The only explanation he could think of was that Tony _hadn't_ deleted the message himself, he'd asked JARVIS to do it and JARVIS had felt there was something there Rhodey should be aware of. 

Damnit, this needed more than a phonecall. He wanted to see Tony himself, to see what was going on. But here he was, stuck on the opposite side of the world, and he couldn't just fly over there and.....he had forty-eight hours. It was a ten hour flight in War Machine, and that was door to door, no need to wait in line at the airport. Yeah, by then he'd be running on fumes, but he could recharge at the tower, and he'd have time in New York to see Tony and get back, and no one would ever know he wasn't where he was supposed to be. 

Mind made up, he was out the door in an instant.

*

During the flight he called up all the press Tony had accumulated since he'd been gone. Sure, there was no chance he'd be able to figure out what was _really_ going on with Tony that way, but he knew from past experience that if he read between the lines he'd be able to get a few clues at least. 

The first thing he learned was that Pepper had probably done the breaking up, at least if the photo of her and Happy Hogan was anything to go by. Goddamnit, Tony had trusted her. Tony had trusted both of them, and that sort of betrayal was the last thing Tony ever needed. Like the guy didn't have enough reasons for his trust issues. And that probably went a long way to explaining why the new few stories he saw were all about Tony drinking too much, sleeping around and generally acting outrageously.

He frowned unhappily. There were plenty of worse ways Tony could be self-destructing, but all he could see was Tony in pain. And he knew from bitter experience how difficult it was to keep sight of that when you were in the middle of Tony's excesses – he only hoped that the Avengers had understood what was really going on. 

The tales of wild behaviour ended abruptly. When this new guy came on the scene, Rhodey guessed, and the start of the pictures of the two of them together kind of confirmed it. And that was good....right? Tony meeting someone he cared about, someone who was important enough for him to pull himself back from the brink....that _had_ to be good. But it just seemed _weird_. It had taken Tony ten years to get together with Pepper, and he'd loved her long before it was ever a thing. Entering into another serious relationship so soon? It really wasn't Tony's style, and the whole thing screamed rebound to him. Oh, he was going to give this....Mark....a chance because he'll he'd been wrong before, but still. He just hoped Tony knew what he was doing.

*

He dozed for most of the flight, the suit flying on autopilot. War Machine didn't have JARVIS, but it did have state-of-the-art auto-navigation functions that would make civilian pilots break down and weep.

He got a call as he was about fifty klicks out of Manhattan. “Good morning, Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS said pleasantly. “Is your destination Stark Tower?” 

He grinned at the familiar voice and fell into a quick barrel roll of sheer delight. Almost home. “It sure is,” he agreed. “Is Tony there?” 

“Yes, Colonel,” JARVIS told him. “Mr Stark is in residence. May I say I am inordinately pleased to see you?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Inordinately, huh?” 

“Yes, Colonel,” JARVIS agreed. “Inordinately.” 

That did not sound good. “Something wrong with Tony?” he asked, increasing his speed as far as he could.

“No, Colonel,” JARVIS said at once.

He sighed. “But could you tell me if there was?” he asked rhetorically. He knew that however much JARVIS might want to, he couldn't go against Tony's direct orders. But there did seem to be something JARVIS wanted him to know.

“Sir has expressed to me on a number of occasions recently that he is fine,” JARVIS volunteered primly.

Which sounded harmless, until you realised that meant that JARVIS had needed to ask how Tony was several times recently, or worse still that Tony had volunteered the information. His lips thinned. “Alright, JARVIS. My ETA is about four minutes. I'm running empty and I'm going to need to head back within the day, you think you could take care of that for me?” 

“Certainly, Colonel,” JARVIS answered promptly. “Do you wish me to alert Mr Stark to your impending visit?” 

He frowned. “What do you think?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I think perhaps the element of surprise would be most effective,” JARVIS said after a barely noticeable pause. “To please Mr Stark, I mean.” 

“Of course,” he agreed dryly. In other words, JARVIS wanted him to catch Tony without his masks up. Damnit, what was happening? “I'll be there soon.” 

He ended the call and kept silent until the world's least subtle superhero hideout was in sight, the large Avengers sign clearly visible on the New York skyline. He frowned; that was something else that had been niggling at him. JARVIS had said 'Stark Tower', not 'Avengers' Tower'. And JARVIS didn't make that sort of mistake, which meant that was another subtle clue. JARVIS was angry with the rest of the Avengers, or at least thought they couldn't be trusted. His eyes narrowed; Tony had invited them into his home. If they'd betrayed that...he wasn't sure what he'd do. But there would be consequences. 

He landed smoothly on the pad and the disassembling rig did its job obligingly. He could trust that by the time he was ready to go, the suit would be fully charged and, if he was lucky, a few of the dents might have been polished out. 

“Well, hello there.” The voice wasn't Tony's. He turned quickly to see a tall dark-haired man come strolling casually out of the penthouse. He looked so at ease that if Rhodey hadn't just had his armour removed by a series of whirling robot arms, he might have thought he'd somehow got the wrong apartment. “You must be Rhodey,” the man went on smiling. “I've heard a lot about you. Tony didn't say you were going to be visiting, though...?” 

“Tony didn't know,” he explained, shaking the proffered hand. “Believe me, if I'd told him, you'd have heard about it.” The last time Rhodey had said he was visiting, Tony had made a room full of arcade games. Including a claw machine filled with Rhodey's underwear. He'd spent over an hour trying to win himself a pair of clean boxers, before he'd 'borrowed' one of Tony's gauntlets and blasted it open. The two of them had still been laughing madly about it two hours later. Somehow, he didn't think this visit was going to run along similar lines.

“Really.” Mark didn't stop smiling for a second. “Well, you're very welcome of course. I know Tony is always glad to see you. Why don't you come in and have a coffee?” 

The casual way this man invited him into Tony's home set his teeth on edge. And it suggested... “So you're living here now?” he asked, trying to sound casual. That seemed damned quick to him, and Mark seemed a little too comfortable. He didn't want to think Mark was just after Tony for his money, but nevertheless he was wondering. 

Mark nodded as he led them inside. “I have been for a couple of months, yes. Tony invited me, and how could I say no?” 

“Honey Bear!” Now that was Tony's voice. He smiled instantly and turned to see Tony practically skipping towards him, dressed in a rollneck sweater, hair still damp from the shower.

His smile faded in spite of himself. Tony looked tired. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his skin was paler than it should be, even accounting for the move from Malibu to New York. He even looked like he'd lost some weight, and none of that was good. “Hey, Tone,” he said, smiling again with an effort. “How're you doing?” 

“Great!” Tony said, his smile a little too bright and his voice a little too loud. “Thanks for asking. Everything's great. You've met Mark, he's great, you'll like him, everybody does. Is this you back? How long are you staying for? Oh! Are you here because War Machine needs fixed? Or were you looking for upgrades? Because I've been working on some ideas that - “

“ - Tony!” he interrupted fondly, before the hyperactive kid on a sugar rush bit got _completely_ out of control. “I'm just here to see you, okay?” He glanced sideways at Mark, who had taken a step towards Tony, his arm wrapped around Tony's waist. He wasn't the best at saying anything emotional, and Tony was even worse at listening, and he couldn't help but think it would be so much more difficult with an audience. “I'm not really here – I mean, technically I'm AWOL right now, but I just got back to civilisation this morning, I got a couple days leave and I heard about you and Pepper, and I wanted to come see you.” 

“That's sweet,” Mark said, with a saccharine smile. “Isn't that sweet, Tony?” 

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled. “Sure.”

Rhodey frowned unhappily. “We should go out,” he suggested. “Tonight. I'll buy you a few drinks and we can get caught up properly.” 

“That sounds good,” Mark said at once. “We'd love to.” 

Rhodey gritted his teeth; suddenly the word 'we' had become insufferable. “Actually, man, I was hoping to spend some guy time with Tony. I've not seen him for months. You know how it is.” 

Mark stared at him coolly and he wasn't smiling now. “You know, Rhodey, you just dropped in unannounced. As it happens, me and _Tone_ had already made plans for tonight. But I'm willing to put those on hold for you. Maybe you want to think about extending me the same courtesy.”

Which sounded about reasonable, except that Tony was Iron Man and Rhodey was War Machine, and neither of them lived reasonable lives. “I'm only in town tonight,” he pointed out. “I'll have to leave tomorrow morning, probably before 0600 hours, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to come back.” 

Mark suddenly laughed disarmingly, spreading his arms wide. “Why the hell are we arguing like this?” he demanded lightly. “What are we, kindergarteners?” He turned to Tony. “What do you think, babe? Do you want me to stay at home tonight?” 

Probably if Rhodey wasn't so predisposed to dislike Mark that one would have slipped right by him. He really wasn't the sort of guy who normally noticed the nuances of what people said. But the way Mark phrased that, there was no way Tony would be able to say yes without being a complete asshole. And making Tony choose between them right off the bat was a complete dick move _anyway_.

“Of course I want you along,” Tony mumbled, then he turned to Rhodey. “That's okay, right? You don't mind?” his voice was anxious and, if possible, he looked more tired than he had when they started this conversation.

“Course not, Tone,” he said softly. “Whatever you want.” 

“Right. Good.” Tony looked away quickly. “Your rooms are still there...I haven't turned them into a holodeck or a brothel or anything. So I don't know if you want to go shower or something, and then maybe we could check out the workshop? I know you said you weren't looking for upgrades, but there's a couple of things....um. Unless you had other plans. I mean, you said you were only in town for a day, you probably don't want to - “

“ - I do,” he interrupted firmly. “I really, really do.” There was absolutely no place else in the world he wanted to be right now. Not when Tony was actually hesitating and saying 'um'. Something was badly wrong.

“Okay, then,” Tony nodded with a pleased smile. “I'll see you downstairs in half an hour? Or an hour? I'll order pizza - “

“ - it's nine o'clock in the morning,” Mark interrupted flatly. 

“Coffee then,” Tony said with a shrug. “And bacon. There should be bacon.” 

“Sounds great,” Rhodey said, somehow finding that Mark was herding him expectantly towards the elevator. “I'll see you then.” 

Just as the elevator doors closed he heard Mark say “So when are you going to build me a suit of armour? _Honey Bear_?”

Oh, hell no.

*

“So, when are you going to build me a suit of armour, Honey Bear?” 

Tony winced, at the question, at the pet name, just at everything. It wasn't the first time Mark had dropped hints that he wanted armour, and Tony was running out of excuses why not. In theory it was obvious. Mark was fit, he was a former soldier and trained FBI agent, he wanted to be a hero, and Tony wanted to keep him safe and make sure no one could get to him through Mark. And yet the thought of Mark putting on armour made him sick to the stomach. Maybe it was because he was being selfish and possessive again, afraid that the Avengers might just realise that Mark made a much better hero than Tony ever could, or maybe it was because he didn't trust Mark to keep control of his temper while in the suit, and a full strength punch from the armour would be enough to kill him. Dramatic irony aside, he really had no intention of being killed by one of his creations.

“Oh, you know,” he muttered, in response to Mark's impatient look. “I've had a lot on recently. And the whole idea just seems weird.” 

“You made a suit for _him_ ,” Mark pointed out, angrily jabbing a thumb at the elevator and taking a step closer.

Tony flinched back in spite of himself. He'd tried so hard to act 'normal' in front of Rhodey, but his nerves were stretched to breaking point and he just couldn't hold it together anymore. It had only been a few days since the incident on the roof at the gala dinner, and he was still aching and exhausted. 

As pleased as he was to see Rhodey – and he was, he really, really was – the timing couldn't be much worse. He didn't want Rhodey knowing about...everything. Rhodey wouldn't understand. 

Or maybe he would, a darker part of his mind whispered to him. Rhodey got pissed at him often enough. Maybe he'd be as pleased as everyone else that someone was putting Tony in his place. No. He swallowed hard. No, they'd first met when Rhodey had saved him from a group of guys intent on kicking his ass. No way Rhodey would just sit back and watch that happen...except he wasn't fourteen anymore, and like Mark said, he should be able to take it. Besides, if you'd asked him six months ago whether Captain America would watch someone throttling him and just apologise for interrupting and walk away, only worrying about the possible negative publicity, he'd have thought that could never happen. 

He hadn't been able to look Steve in the eye since. Every time he tried he just felt small and ashamed, and he'd dreamt about the look in Steve's eyes. It wasn't even like Steve had considered saving him and decided he wasn't worth it. Hell, that at least was something they could agree on. Instead Steve had just looked like there was nothing wrong, as though Tony couldn't possibly want saving.

He didn't, of course. He didn't want or need saving from Mark. But he was just starting to feel less and less like a person and more like some hollowed out shell; something that was kept around for Mark's pleasure and because it could be useful to the Avengers, and now Rhodey was here and he wasn't sure what the hell Rhodey would want from it...him. From him. 

“Tony!” The slap caught him full on the face and he jumped, coming back to himself to see Mark staring at him impatiently. That had been happening a lot lately. He just...drifted off. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Yeah,” Mark snorted. “It's like living with JD from Scrubs, except you're not as cute and not as funny.” 

His shoulders hunched. He was literally too tired to think of any kind of come back. “Sorry,” he muttered again. “What..what were we talking about?” 

“Your friend _Rhodey_ ,” Mark repeated impatiently. “You made him armour.” 

“I made that for him when I was dying,” he tried to explain.

“And you let him keep it after,” Mark spat. 

“He...what was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Make him give it back? He's doing good work, keeping America safe and all that.” 

“Sure,” Mark snorted. “That's the reason.” 

“He's my friend,” he protested, not understanding.

“Right. 'Friend',” Mark agreed sarcastically, making exaggerated air quotes.

He frowned. “Wait, are you jealous?” he asked incredulous. “There's nothing like that with Rhodey and me. Hell, Rhodey is as straight as they come.” 

“No shit,” Mark said, rolling his eyes the way he did when he thought Tony was being stupid and missing something. “Did you see the way he looked at me? Or rather, the way he _didn't_ look at me?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Your _friend_ could barely stand to look at me,” Mark told him coldly. “You really think he came here because he heard about you breaking up with Pepper? Or do you think he came here because he heard about some big, bad faggot corrupting his drinking buddy and turning him queer and he wanted to come save you.” 

He nearly laughed. “No,” he protested at once. “No, Rhodey's not like that He knows I've been with guys before, and he's never had a problem with it.” 

“Sure,” Mark agreed. “When it's just a quick one night stand he wouldn't care too much. But a relationship? Knowing you're sucking my cock every night? He's career military, right? It's only been a few years since Don't Ask Don't Tell was repealed. You really sure your friend doesn't have a problem with it? Like really, really, one hundred percent sure?” 

“Yes,” he said, not sounding anything like one hundred percent sure. He trusted Rhodey. Rhodey had never let stuff like that bother him. But Mark suggested it and Tony couldn't help but wonder. Mark had been the one to suggest that the Avengers would tolerate him more if he just kept quiet unless he had something useful to say. 

Mark sighed. “Just think about it, babe, okay? And be on your guard. I don't want you to get hurt.” 

“Right,” he said with an effort. 

*

Rhodey took a shower and got a clean change of clothes, thinking furiously all the time. He didn't like this new relationship of Tony's at all. Mark seemed possessive, domineering and emotionally manipulative and that was only from a five minute conversation. He wondered if it was always like that. Surely not; Tony tended to run a mile at the first sign someone wanted to control him.

“JARVIS?” he asked softly. “Can you show me a list of everything Tony's bought or made Mark over the past six months?” 

The list was as long as he feared and at least a few of the items that flickered up would have cost hundreds of thousands at the very least. An apartment in Aspen, a custom-designed Rolex, a smartphone that was waterproof, bullet-proof, fingerprint activated and also contained a taser – typical Tony presents. Particularly, typical Tony presents when he was trying to buy forgiveness...or affection.

“Damnit,” he muttered. This relationship was moving too fast, and Mark clearly had Tony wrapped around his little finger, and here was all the reason in the world why. He didn't want to believe it, but he found it easy to imagine Mark seeing Tony's vulnerability and worming his way into Tony's life in order to take everything he could. Whatever was happening, Tony was unhappy and JARVIS had practically told him something was going on, and Rhodey had every intention of getting to the bottom of it.

Once he was ready, he headed to the workshop. Tony was already there and and buzzed him in, and he saw a pot of coffee and a large plate of bacon sandwiches.

“Don't tell me,” he smiled. “You finally made a robot capable of cooking.” 

“Nah,” Tony shook his head. “All my work, I'm afraid. Though Dummy could make you a smoothie if you're really craving that authentic robot-made taste. As long as you don't mind the risk of motor oil, anyway.” 

“I'll pass,” he said with a grimace, nevertheless returning Dummy's enthusiastic wave. “Since when did you cook anyhow?” 

“Uh, making sandwiches is hardly cooking,” Tony pointed out.

“For you?” Rhodey teased. “Tony, you once managed to turn hot chocolate into cheese.” 

“Mark says I should do more things for myself,” Tony explained with a shrug. “He says it will help me be more normal.” 

Once again, Rhodey found his smile a strain. “Since when were you trying to be normal?” 

Tony shrugged again and said nothing for a long moment, gazing vacantly at his mug of coffee. “So how was North Korea?” he asked abruptly.

“Awful,” Rhodey answered honestly. “The whole thing's a mess.” He paused. “Also, you're not supposed to know where I was,” he added with a stern look.

He was rewarded with a tiniest smile before Tony grew serious again. “Did you get hurt?” 

It was the same question Tony asked every time Rhodey came back from active duty, right from when he'd come home from his first deployment, and Tony had been a skinny seventeen year old, finishing up his second masters and trying not to show how much he'd missed his best friend. 

“No,” he answered reassuringly. “Not surprising, really. You did give me awesome armour, remember?” 

“Yeah, that's not always enough to save you,” Tony told him quietly.

He hated it when Tony got in this mood. He always felt so helpless. “How about you?” he asked softly. “Any bad missions I should know about?” 

“Nah,” Tony said awkwardly. “It's been quiet.”

“Good,” he said, relieved that at least Tony hadn't been physically hurt recently. The obvious emotional hurt was more than enough to be going on with, thank you. “You look tired,” he told Tony quietly.

“So do you,” Tony retorted.

“Yeah,” he nodded, rolling his shoulders and helping himself to a bacon sandwich. “I guess we're not teenagers anymore. But it seems like more than that, Tone. I'm worried about you.” 

“No need,” Tony said quickly with a bright grin. “Everything's fine with me. Just ask anyone.” 

“I'm asking you,” Rhodey pointed out patiently.

“I'm fine,” Tony insisted.

He paused for a moment. “Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but I don't like this new relationship of yours.” 

“You mean you don't like Mark,” Tony said in an odd tone of voice. 

“I don't like the way he talks to you,” Rhodey said, determined to press on. “I heard that bit about you building him armour as I was leaving.”

“Jealous our little club might be growing?” Tony asked, wriggling his eyebrows like he was trying to be flirtatious.

Rhodey bit back on the urge to sigh. “Of course not. But I'm worried you're rushing into things....that Mark is encouraging you to rush into things. I mean, you're living together already? Tony that's - “

“ - my idea,” Tony interrupted harshly, his lips thin. “I asked him to move in with me. He didn't even suggest it. Next?” 

He hesitated. He could already tell this wasn't going to go well. But he needed to say his piece. “Upstairs, he was talking for you as well. You were letting him make decisions for you. Since when do you do that?” 

“Well, since every decision I make is bad...” Tony answered flippantly. “Maybe letting someone else take charge isn't the the worst idea in the world.” 

“Take charge?” Rhodey repeated, his mouth twisted. “Tony, he's supposed to be your boyfriend, not your commanding officer. They way he talks to you is wrong, it's too harsh, too controlling, too - “

“ - male?” Tony suggested sardonically. 

That pulled Rhodey up short. “What?” 

“That's the problem here, isn't it?” Tony went on, staring at him angrily. “If you'd come back and found Pepper had dumped me and I'd hooked up with another woman, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?” 

“Bullshit,” Rhodey said at once. “That has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony demanded, and Rhodey had no idea where this was coming from. “ _Everyone_ likes Mark except you. And you've barely even spoken to him but you've decided he's no good for me. So what else could it be?”

“Everyone likes Mark?” Rhodey repeated.

“Yes,” Tony snapped defiantly. 

Rhodey looked at him intently. “How about JARVIS?” 

Tony froze. “That...that's not...” 

“JARVIS?” Rhodey asked, not taking his eyes off Tony. “What do - “ 

“ - JARVIS, mute,” Tony said furiously. “Face it, Rhodey, it's because he's a man that you're so down on him.”

“Bullshit,” he said again. “Tony, I was the first person you ever told you were bi, right?” He barely waited for Tony's reluctant nod. “And in all the time since have I _ever_ been anything but supportive? I don't care about that, Tony, you know that. I just want you - “

“ - he loves me,” Tony said quietly, looking away from him. “He said so. Can't you just like him? For my sake? Please, Rhodey.” 

Tony's voice was raw and Rhodey's heart ached.

“No,” he admitted softly. “But I can be civil at least.” For the moment anyway, until he had a better idea what was going on. If he had more evidence that Mark wasn't good for him, Tony would have to listen.

Tony sighed. “I know you think you're helping but you're really not. So just...don't start any fights with him, okay?” 

“I won't,” Rhodey promised. “So what was it you wanted to show me?” 

Tony smiled, the first genuine smile Rhodey had seen since the one Tony had greeted him with, and started to bring up holograms.

*

Bruce was drinking coffee and reading the papers with Steve when Mark walked into the kitchen. Steve liked reading the news the old fashioned way, and Bruce liked the company, so it had become something of a habit on lazy weekends when he didn't have any projects on.

Mark stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. Bruce raised an eyebrow. When Tony had told them Mark was moving in they'd been surprised but welcoming, and he'd thought Mark was comfortable not acting like a guest.

“Come in and sit down,” Steve invited, sounding slightly worried and Bruce guessed he was thinking something similar. “You want a coffee?” 

“Thanks,” Mark said, sitting down and accepting the cup Steve offered with a sigh.

“Is there something wrong?” Bruce asked sympathetically. 

In response Mark rubbed the back of his hand over his face and sighed again. “How well do you know Colonel Rhodes?” he asked, watching them carefully. 

“Tony's friend?” Bruce asked blankly. “Not that well.” 

“We've met a couple of times,” Steve clarified. “He's been away a lot.” 

“Well he's upstairs now,” Mark said grimly.

“That's good, isn't it?” Steve said with a worried glance at Bruce. “I know Tony misses him when he's away.” 

“Yeah.” Mark pressed his lips together for a moment. “I don't like the way he talks to Tony,” he said at last. “I know he's Tony's friend and I shouldn't think like this, but practically the first thing he said to Tony was that they should go drinking together. Tony's been doing so well lately, he's cut right back....God, maybe I'm just being selfish but I don't want him encouraged to start drinking again. I don't know...am I being controlling?” He looked at them with a sort of hesitant appeal. 

“No, of course not,” Bruce assured him at once. “You're only doing what's best for Tony. That's not selfish at all, everyone knows how good you are to him.” 

“I'm sure Colonel Rhodes would understand if you just talked to him about it,” Steve added earnestly. “I don't know him that well, but he seemed a pretty reasonable guy.” 

“Yeah,” Mark grimaced. “I'm not so sure he's going to be willing to talk to me. He didn't seem to like me too much. I don't think he was exactly happy at seeing Tony with a man.” He blinked a couple of times and stared down at the table looking unusually vulnerable. Bruce felt a stab of sympathy. It wasn't easy when someone close to the person you loved didn't like you. “But that's okay,” Mark went on unconvincingly. “I mean, he's career military. God knows I wasn't out when I was in the army. The rules might have changed, but the attitudes take longer, right? It doesn't really matter I guess...” 

“Yes it does,” Steve said fiercely. “There's absolutely nothing wrong with you or Tony, and if he can't accept that he doesn't _deserve_ to be Tony's friend.” 

Mark exhaled slowly. “Thanks, Steve,” he said with a warm smile. “You'll help me keep an eye on him, right?” He looked at both of them.

“Of course,” Bruce agreed at once. 

“Good,” Mark said with satisfaction. “He's only in town tonight. We're going out, would you mind coming along? And bringing the others, If possible. With enough people there disapproving I'm sure Tony wouldn't listen if Colonel Rhodes encourages him to drink.”

Bruce was pretty sure that would work. It was good for Tony to hear they were all on his side.

*

Today wasn't going anything like Rhodey had hoped it would. After that unsatisfying conversation in Tony's workshop he'd barely had a second alone with Tony. Mark had arrived after a few minutes, and Rhodey had been dismayed to see him walk straight into the workshop. JARVIS at least warned them and a glance at the screen told him that Mark only had access when Tony was there, but this was far more of a warning sign that things were moving too fast than even them moving in together had been. Tony didn't give people access codes to his workshop. Pepper was the only one he'd ever trusted that much, and Rhodey desperately wanted to ask what Mark had done to earn the privilege, what did Tony see that made him so special? But he didn't get the chance.

Mark walked in while Rhodey had been busy playing catch with Dummy, listening to Tony talk gleefully about a new rotator that should allow them to turn tighter corners. Rhodey figured only Tony could revolutionise aerodynamics for the express purpose of flying indoors.

“Not that I'd ever do it in the tower of course,” he added quickly as Mark walked in, his attitude suddenly a whole lot less exuberant. 

Dummy missed the catch and Mark picked up the water bottle they were using as a ball. “Having fun?” he asked lightly, his eyes bright. He threw the bottle to Dummy, and Dummy couldn't turn quickly enough and the bottle bounced harmlessly off the bot's arm. “Oops,” Mark said with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, little guy.”

“We should go upstairs,” Tony said, standing up quickly. “Is that okay?” He glanced at Mark then Rhodey nervously and Rhodey nodded not sure what else to say. “Good,” Tony said, and he curled his fingers briefly round Dummy's casing as he passed. 

And after that they'd been upstairs for lunch and awkward conversation with the other Avengers. Rhodey could see now what Tony had meant when he said everyone liked Mark. They did, it was as simple as that. He was funny, charming, perfectly happy to listen to other people's stories, and he made an effort to include Rhodey in every conversation, even when Rhodey only gave one word answers at best...hell, if Rhodey had met him normally _he'd_ probably have liked him. But instead all he could see was how quiet Tony was. How polite, how subdued. He barely said a word unless someone spoke directly to him and the worst thing was no one seemed to notice. It wasn't like they were angry or upset with him, or even plain didn't like him. That was something he could understand even if he didn't like it. No, they spoke to him like he was their friend and they simply didn't notice he wasn't _Tony_. 

His sense of unease only grew over the course of the day, until they were out that evening in one of his and Tony's old favourite haunts and when Steve got up to get a round and Tony said he wanted a beer, Steve looked past Tony to Mark and Rhodey turned his head in time to see Mark nod slightly, like he was giving permissions. What the hell? Yes, Tony had a history of drinking too much and when he'd announced he was cutting down after the whole thing with Vanko and Hammer, Rhodey had been delighted, but Tony was a grown man and he had a right to decide whether or not he wanted a lousy beer, especially when it was his first. And last. Tony caught the look and ordered lemonade for the rest of the night. And _that_ was wrong. Not the lemonade part so much, but Tony should _argue_. Tony would resent anyone making decisions for him and he would be spiky and sarcastic and angry, and everything _but_ the meek and compliant stranger who'd taken his place. Honestly, Rhodey was practically at the point of wondering if they'd put a chip in his brain to make him behave.

The conversation continued just as awkwardly as it had in the tower, and Rhodey got the impression the Avengers were suspicious of him. He caught a couple of hard looks from Steve and Clint when he tried to draw Tony out of himself a little. He never caught Natasha looking at him and that might be more frightening. They hadn't acted like this to him previously. Before he'd been sent to North Korea, he'd spent time in the tower, getting to known them, and they'd all seemed to get on just fine. Something had changed here, and the only new factor here was Mark.

When it was his turn to go up to the bar Mark followed him.

“I thought you might need help carrying things,” he smiled.

“Thanks,” Rhodey said with bad grace.

“You know,” Mark began conversationally, leaning against the bar as they waited for the drinks. “Tony would be happy if we got along.” 

“Yeah. Well,” Rhodey shrugged. “I don't see that happening, do you?” 

There was a pause and Mark smiled, showing all his teeth. “Is it because I'm a man?” 

“Nah,” Rhodey said, grinning coldly back. “It's because you're an asshole.” 

Mark nodded thoughtfully a couple of times and laughed, shaking his head. “You just don't like picturing him on his knees, face covered in drool and cum as he chokes on my fat cock, do you?” 

For a moment Rhodey really couldn't believe what he'd heard. “What?” 

Mark smirked. “That's it, isn't it? You don't like to think that the great Tony Stark spends every night flat on his back with his ankles hooked over my shoulders, begging me to pound his sweet ass harder and harder, like the pathetic faggot he is.” 

Rhodey punched him.

It was a second before he fully realised what the pain in his hand meant, but then he just thought _what the hell_ and punched him again and again, and Mark was hitting back and they were on the floor, punching and wrestling, and Rhodey managed to get on top, still fighting desperately as strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Enough!” Steve said harshly and this was what it felt like when Captain America gave you an order. “What in the world is going on here?” 

Rhodey looked past him. Clint had hold of Mark, his face blank. There were people gathered around, watching, taking pictures, and Thor and Natasha were quietly leading Bruce out of the club. And Tony....Tony was standing there, looking straight at Rhodey, his face full of hurt. 

“It was my fault,” Mark said at once, regretfully, and Rhodey snorted. Damn right it was. He was pleased to see the blood trickling from the corner of Mark's mouth. “I made a couple of jokes...I thought it would help break the tension. I guess Colonel Rhodes is more closed-minded than I thought.” 

“What? No, that's not what it was.” He made a start angrily towards Mark, but Steve still had hold of his arm, gripping bruisingly hard. Right. He took a deep breath and twisted round to look at Tony. “You didn't hear what he was saying, Tone. I'm not going to stand and listen to someone call you a faggot. I never have. Nothing's gonna change that.” 

He heard Steve take a sharp breath behind him, but all he cared about was the look on Tony's face, all blank and shut off. “Except I am, Rhodey. I'm with Mark now, and you need to accept that.” He shook his head slowly. “It was the one thing I asked you, Rhodey. Don't start a fight. I thought I could trust you.” Disappointment evident, he turned to walk away. 

Rhodey swore. “Fuck, that's not what I.... _Tony_.” 

As he watched, Mark hurried after him and wrapped his arm around Tony's shoulders and _maybe_ it was meant as comfort or affection, but to Rhodey it just looked like triumphant possession.

He broke free from Steve and looked round angrily, but both Steve and Clint were frowning at him. “Just leave them alone,” Clint told him in a low voice, and he didn't need to make the threat out loud. 

“Listen,” he said urgently. “You need to know what he was saying about Tony. It wasn't - “

“ - I don't want to hear it,” Steve said coldly. “I know you're Tony's friend, but you're the only one hurting him here. With all due respect, you need to get your head on straight, colonel.” 

He gazed at them in helpless anger. They weren't going to listen. 

What the hell was he supposed to do?

*

Tony ended up walking Rhodey back to his rooms. Mark wasn't happy about it, and no doubt it was one more thing he'd have to answer for later, but Rhodey had looked so miserable he hadn't wanted to brush him off again.

Not that he wasn't angry. He had no doubt the fight Rhodey had started would end up being his fault somehow. He expected he would get every single punch Rhodey had landed back in triplicate. A small part of him wanted to scream at Rhodey for that, but really, Rhodey didn't know and it was better that continued. Cos Rhodey hadn't seen Mark do anything anyone could actually say was _wrong_ , his hatred was irrational, and Tony didn't want the fact that Mark hit him to be just more fuel to the fire. Besides, Rhodey would be gone in the morning, and Tony still had to live here and...and he was ashamed. He didn't want Rhodey to know because he was ashamed and because he couldn't _really_ trust that Rhodey would think there was anything wrong. _(No one else did, remember, Stark? You deserve this. Suck it up and deal with it like a man.)_

They walked in silence and stopped outside Rhodey's door. “Well, goodnight,” he said abruptly. “War Machine will be ready for you by the morning, so I'll see you then.” 

“Tony, wait,” Rhodey said gruffly. “Please.” 

He waited.

“I'm sorry about tonight,” Rhodey went on, visibly uncomfortable. “I hadn't planned on starting a fight, I swear, it's just....the things he was saying.” Rhodey's face was creased with horror and disgust. “God, Tony, he was talking like your pimp, not your lover.” He stopped suddenly, studying Tony's face. “You're not even a little bit curious, are you?” 

Oh, shit. “That's because I trust him,” he said lamely.

“No.” Rhodey shook his head. “No, that's not it. You already believe me, don't you? You know exactly what he was saying.” 

Exactly? No. But it took a lot to get Rhodey to lose his temper to that extent – the fact that he'd never beat on Tony was proof enough of that - and he knew the sort of thing Mark could say, like all the unpleasant insults he'd thrown at Tony's head in the beginning of their relationship in order to get a reaction he could draw out into the light and twist until Tony saw how true the insult really was. Rhodey had made it clear he didn't like Mark, and Mark wouldn't stand for that. And what better way to get rid of him than to have him start a fight in front of the Avengers? Now everyone liked Mark and hated Rhodey, and Tony was just too tired to give a damn anymore.

“He's got a crude sense of humour,” he said with an indifferent shrug. “You overreacted because you don't like the thought of me and him together. Forget about it - “

“ - Forget about it?” Rhodey demanded furiously. “Tony, if that's the way he talks to you to someone he hardly knows, that shit is unacceptable.” 

The anger in Rhodey's voice was surprisingly difficult to take. His stomach lurched and he had to screw his toes up tight in his shoes to keep from turning tail and running. “It's fine,” he pleaded. “You don't understand.” 

“I know something's wrong, Tony,” Rhodey said intently. “I want to help. You're my friend.” 

“ _Why_?” The question escaped him before he'd had time to think, and he pressed his lips together firmly a second later, determined not to say anything else embarrassing. 

“Why am I your friend?” Rhodey asked disbelievingly.

“It's because I got all the best toys, right?” he joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood.

But Rhodey just looked more upset. “Shit, Tony, maybe I complain about you too much. I can't believe you even have to ask that.” He took a deep breath and looked at Tony for a long second, and now Tony wanted to run for a whole different set of reasons. “Okay. You remember back in MIT when Louise dumped me for that douche with the Camaro? You bought out an ice cream parlour and a liquor store to make me feel better, then you invented a new sort of glue, broke into the douche's dorm room and stuck everything in there to the ceiling.” 

He remembered. It had seemed funny at the time. “I just wanted you to stop moping,” he explained hesitantly. 

“And the first time I was sent over seas,” Rhodey went on, still looking straight at him. “I told you how much it sucked that I was going to be the only guy in the squadron without family there to see him off, and you skipped out on the first board meeting your Dad ever invited you to so you could come say goodbye and I wouldn't be alone.” 

“So I blew off a board meeting,” he said with a shrug. “I've blown off hundreds. Just ask Pe...just ask anyone.” 

Rhodey nodded. “And you remember a few years back when I called you at three o'clock in the morning from some shithole south of Tijuana, drunk and crazy, and told you I had to get to Arlington? You came and got me in a private jet and you stood there in the rain for six hours while I looked at gravestones, and then you bought me a bunch of drinks and let me tell you about them.” 

He remembered that day. He'd been scared and uncomfortable, and he'd just tried to do whatever seemed like a good idea with no real clue whether anything he was doing was helping. “I just....” He shrugged again. He didn't know what to say.

“That stuff mattered to me, Tony,” Rhodey said softly. “It mattered a lot.” 

Yeah, Tony could almost wish Rhodey was friends with him for his money or gadgets. At least that was something he could rely on. All those things Rhodey talked about, he hadn't set out to do them, so how could he count on being able to do them again so Rhodey would stick around? So much more likely he would screw it all up like he always did. 

“When I'm in trouble, you're my first phone call,” Rhodey said, rubbing his hand across his face. “And I can deal with the fact that you wouldn't say the same. What kills me is knowing that when you're in trouble, you don't call _anyone_.” 

“I'm not in trouble,” he said automatically, and Rhodey's eyes called him a liar. “I should...yeah, I should go. And you should sleep, you have an early start tomorrow. Oh, and I had JARVIS yank all the photos of tonight off the news and social media. You said you were AWOL, right, so I figured if pictures turned up of you getting in barfights in New York someone might just figure out you're not where you're supposed to be.” 

“Thanks,” Rhodey said quietly. “Tony - “

“ - no,” he said hastily, and now he was running away. “Sleep. I'll see you in the morning, bright and early, Honey Bear.” 

“Sure,” Rhodey said, defeated, as he walked away. “Goodnight, Tony.” 

He practically ran to the elevator, his fingernails digging deep into his palms. He could still hear Rhodey's voice echoing in his ears, and the warmth and sincerity made him want to scream. No, that wasn't _right_. That wasn't what he deserved. 

He hesitated outside the apartment door, imagining Mark on the other side, waiting for him. He wondered what would happen if he turned round now and went back and told Rhodey what was waiting for him...? 

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed open the door, and Mark was on him in an instant, shoving him up against the door, tearing his shirt aside, his hands gripping Tony's arms tight as he trailed searing kisses down his collar bone, just below the bruises which spread out from his throat. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered in Tony's ear. “About your friend.” 

“I don't think he'll be around much,” Tony managed to say. 

“Good,” Mark said fiercely, pressing his body hard against Tony, and kissing him with an almost vicious lust. 

Tony closed his eyes and surrendered to the passion, and the punch, when it came, didn't surprise him one bit. 

*

Rhodey groaned and slumped back against the wall as Tony ran away. “I guess I screwed that up,” he said miserably. 

“On the contrary, I believe it is good for Mr Stark to hear that he is valued for reasons beyond money, sex and technology,” JARVIS answered. “Given time to reflect, he may come to appreciate your words.” 

He wasn't altogether surprised that JARVIS had been listening. They had been talking in a public area, after all, and JARVIS was at least as invested in Tony's well-being as Rhodey was. “Yeah,” he answered heavily. “Too bad time isn't exactly something I've got to spare.” He was leaving in about five hours and he didn't know what was going on with Tony, and he had no idea how to fix it. God, hadn't he just got through saying how Tony wouldn't confide in him? Maybe if Tony could rely on him sticking around, he just might. 

And if he went back now, no one would be left looking out for Tony.

Closing his eyes for a second, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out his phone and dialled a number without even looking. 

“Colonel Harrity,” the voice said brusquely. 

“Harrity? It's Rhodes,” he said in a low voice.

“Jim!” Harrity said enthusiastically. “How are you enjoying your pass? I thought we'd get a drink in the officer's club last night but you were nowhere to be found.” 

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “Something came up. Listen, how much of a problem would it be if I didn't come back tomorrow?” 

There was silence. “That's not funny, Rhodes,” Harrity said eventually. 

“Wasn't trying to be,” he said. “Seriously, what would happen if I didn't come back right at this moment?” 

Harrity didn't even hesitate. “Seriously? We might just lose Hawaii.” 

“Fuck,” he said quietly, staring round the tower with a feeling of quiet desperation. This wasn't fair. Why did Tony have to go and make him indispensable. 

“Look, Jim,” Harrity began in a soothing voice. “I can't imagine how tired you must feel. And I'm not going to ask where you are right now, just....make sure you're back tomorrow morning. Okay?” 

“I'll be there,” he promised dully. He didn't have much choice. He couldn't put one man, even Tony, over a million people. 

“Good,” Harrity said, relieved. “Now, try and get some rest. I'll see you soon, Rhodes.” 

“See you soon,” he echoed, and he hung up. “Fuck.” Angrily, he smashed his head back against the wall, and it wasn't enough, so he did it again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” 

“Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS said sternly. “If you continue this behaviour I will need to summon someone to stop you.” 

“Right,” he said bitterly. “No self-destructive behaviour in the tower unless you're Tony, huh?” He clenched his fists tightly. “I can't stay, JARVIS.” 

“I gathered as much, Colonel,” JARVIS told him gently. “And I would add that Mr Stark would not thank you for prioritising his well-being over others' safety.” 

“I know,” he said. “That doesn't make it any easier. He glanced up at the ceiling out of habit. “What am I going to do JARVIS? I know you can't tell me anything, but something's wrong here, and I can't just leave without doing _something_.” 

If circumstances were different, he'd call Pepper and ask her to keep a close eye on Tony. And even though he hadn't had a chance to talk to her, he doubted she had any intention of cutting herself out of Tony's life altogether, but still, right now she was part of the problem, not the solution. And the Avengers obviously weren't going to listen to him. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who does Tony trust right now?” he asked, already suspecting the answer would be 'no one'.

“Mr Lowing,” JARVIS said promptly, and that might just be worse. 

“Anyone else?” he requested hopefully.

There was a minuscule pause. “Mr Stark was always partial to Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said slowly.

“The SHIELD agent?” Rhodey said incredulously. “I thought he trusted them about as far as he could throw that helicarrier of theirs.” 

“Indeed,” JARVIS agreed. “But he has been inclined to listen to Agent Coulson in the past, and I believe Agent Coulson has generally dealt fairly and openly with Mr Stark as opposed to certain other parties.” 

“Okay....” Rhodey said slowly, mind whirling. It was a possibility at least. He yawned suddenly. 

“Colonel Rhodes, you really should get some sleep,” JARVIS said, sounding worried. “My scans suggest you are under a great deal of stress.” 

“No kidding,” he said with a sigh. “Alright, JARVIS. Do me a favour and wake me in four hours, huh? I want to get a shower before I leave.” 

“Of course, Colonel,” JARVIS agreed.

*

Five hours later found him knocking lightly on Tony's door, needing to get out to the landing pad. Tony opened the door almost immediately, fully dressed. Mark was sitting on the sofa, facing the door, completely naked, his legs spread wide. He met Rhodey's eyes with an amused smirk.

Rhodey didn't even blink. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing the reaction he wanted. Though he did smile a little inside to see the dark bruises standing out on Mark's chest. Served the bastard right. 

“Morning,” he said to Tony with a warm smile. 

Tony nodded slightly but didn't say anything, which wasn't altogether unusual for Tony this early in the morning. 

“I need to get going,” he said regretfully, walking towards the balcony. “Is everything ready?” 

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “All fuelled up, and I had JARVIS load some new targeting algorithms for you.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” he smiled. He stepped out onto the balcony and let the assembly rig put on the armour for him. It was definitely quicker than doing it manually, but it still wasn't that convenient. He looked at Tony. “Any chance I could get some of those bracelets at some point?” he asked hopefully.

Tony shook his head, his eyes blank. “No. It's too easy for them to be taken off you. I'm working on something better.” 

“Okay,” he said, frowning slightly. “I wasn't serious anyway.” Tony still looked tired, and he didn't think it was anything to do with how early it was. He glanced back towards the penthouse, but Mark had only followed them as far as the door at least. Last chance. “Can you tell me what's wrong, Tony?” he said in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “Please?” 

Once again, Tony just shook his head and said nothing. 

He sighed, and with a sudden impulse he stepped forwards and wrapped his arms round Tony, hugging him tightly. He couldn't feel Tony through the armour and he wished he'd thought to do this before he put it on. “I love you, man,” he whispered in Tony's ear. “Remember that, okay?” 

He stepped back, and prepared to fly off.

“Rhodey,” Tony said quickly. “Be careful out there, okay?” 

There was bright fear in Tony's eyes. Rhodey nodded. “I will,” he promised. “You too, okay?” 

“Sure,” Tony agreed with a tired smile. “See you, Rhodey.” 

He flew off and waited until he was well outside New York before making the call. It went to voicemail, which at six o'clock in the morning probably wasn't so surprising. “Agent Coulson?” he began. “This is Colonel Rhodes. I want to talk to you about Tony Stark.”


	8. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. And just to let you know, this chapter takes place the same day as the previous one. And the next one will probably mostly take place that same day as well. It's a very busy day.

He leaned forwards under the water, hands pressed hard against the tiles because he really thought that if he tried to stand up on his own one second longer, he might just take a nose dive in front of everyone, and that would be one more humiliation than he thought he could cope with right now. Though maybe everyone would just assume he'd been drinking again. Fuck, that might even be worse. He was so _tired_ of it all...

This was nice though, right? This was good. Long hot shower, no alarm going off after three minutes telling him that he'd had all the time he needed and now he was just being wasteful and excessive and if he didn't get out right now, Mark would be disappointed in him again...this was nice. And it would be so much nicer if he could just relax and feel _safe_.

His hand curled into a fist against the tile, his fingernails digging lightly into his palm. He tried to let his mind drift. Lately, it was about the only way he could keep the panic at bay. 

He'd had to install the alarm himself after admitting to Mark that sometimes he didn't have the self-control to force himself to leave the comfort of the warm water, especially when he thought just two more minutes might be enough to work out some of the aches in his body, ( _Or when more than anything, he wanted to feel_ clean.) Mark had looked sad and disappointed, and he'd stood over Tony as he put the alarm in and tested it, and at least it was loud enough that he could never ignore it. Mark helped him become a better man, so everything was _better_. It _was_. 

But, he admitted to himself guiltily, it was nice to be standing under the hot water with a cast iron excuse for staying as long as he wanted to. Mark might hate him being wasteful, but he'd hate him coming home smelling of that sickening mix of bile, sulphur and rotting fish guts even more. The creatures that they'd been fighting hadn't been especially tough, in the scheme of things, but when they'd died they'd done so with a dramatic explosion that had showered them all in a sticky green fluid that clung and _smelled_. Oh, God, did it smell. Somehow, it had spread right through the armour. And it didn't appear to pose a hazard, but they'd been declared unfit for human company until they'd managed to scrub it off. Which was why he, Steve, Bruce, Clint and Thor were currently standing in the male decontamination showers in the helicarrier with a wide selection of cleaning supplies, and two agents in hazmat suits on the door.

Once upon a time he'd probably have had a lot to say about the situation, but those days were behind him now and he was carefully keeping his mouth shut, even while he was listening to Clint complain, and Thor threaten anyone who suggested that they might have to cut the stuff out of his hair. There had been a moment when Clint had started to tease him about needing to buy out a cologne factory, but he'd mumbled something appropriate and he'd been able to quickly turn his attention to the shower, leaving the rest of them to talk while he passed unnoticed. 

He winced as he reached up to soap his hair, the pain pinching under his ribs enough to leave him struggling to breathe for a second. It had barely been nine hours since Rhodey left and Mark punished him, and he'd already been beat up before that. He hurt. That was the price for everything being better. 

A prickling on the back of his neck made him turn round nervously. From the shower opposite, Bruce was staring at him, his brow creased. 

“Uh, Big Guy?” he said hesitantly. “You know, basic shower etiquette says no peeking.” 

“Where did you get those bruises?” Bruce asked abruptly. 

He froze. Oh, hell. Up until now the other Avengers hadn't got involved in the details of what Mark had to do to him, and he'd been grateful for that. He twisted away automatically, hiding his side as best he could. “It's nothing,” he said hastily, willing Bruce to accept it. Come on. Just let him keep this much pride.

Of course he didn't have that kind of luck. “What bruises?” Steve demanded sharply, stepping out of his shower and coming round to look. 

“There's bruises all down his side, and across his back,” Bruce said, and Tony flinched minutely at the disapproval in his voice. Why would Bruce even point that out? They _knew_ he couldn't help but screw up, why would they even bother noticing?

“From the creatures?” Clint asked, and now he was coming over too, and Thor was just behind, and Tony was starting to feel cornered and even more naked than he actually was. “I didn't think you got hit.” 

The excuse was a reprieve, and he opened his mouth, ready to deflect, but Bruce spoke first. “No, they looked older than that,” he said, still looking at Tony through narrowed eyes. “And they didn't all happen at once. What happened, Tony?” 

It was a direct question. Well, this was new and completely unwelcome. He felt the hurt and anger rolling over in the pit of his stomach. Why were they doing this? Why couldn't they just stick to the way it had always worked, where they approved of the new him and politely ignored all the physical punishment it took to get him that way? For a moment he considered just sharply telling Bruce that it was none of his business, the details were between him and Mark, but that would be confrontational and he was supposed to avoid arguments. He dropped his eyes to the ground, half turning away. “I was rude and thoughtless,” he mumbled, hoping that generalities would be enough, hoping that they weren't going to start demanding the details. 

“What?” Clint said, a small confused laugh in his voice. 

He cringed; he was going to have to actually say it. Goddamn it, he didn't _want_ to have to say it. “Mark hit me. He had to.” 

There was a long moment of silence. 

He hated it. He would swear he could _feel_ the judgemental looks. “I told you it was nothing,” he said defensively. 

“ _What_?” Clint said blankly.

“Tony, if that's a joke, it's not funny,” Steve said tersely. 

“Steve!” Bruce hissed and he could _feel_ them looking at each other, and it was all of them against him, and he didn't understand....

“Why would it be a joke?” he asked, completely lost. 

There was another long moment of silence. 

He heard a gentle splashing as Bruce came towards him, and he hunched his shoulders, willing him not to come any closer. Mercifully, it seemed like Bruce somehow listened. “Tony...did you just say Mark hit you?” Bruce asked softly. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged irritably. “It isn't bad or anything. And Mark had no way of knowing that we were going to be assembling today, but he's always careful about not doing any damage that would mean I can't - “

“ _Always_?” Clint's voice rose sharply. “You mean, this isn't the first time?” 

He looked up, frowning. “Well, no. You know that.” He looked across their faces, one by one, bewildered, and they were all staring at him like they'd never seen him before. He didn't understand. “We talked about this months back. Last year.” 

There was another moment of silence and then Clint threw himself across the room, back to where he'd been showering and grabbed his communicator from the floor. “Natasha! Get in here, now.” There was an answer, too low for Tony to make out, but in spite of the circumstances he smiled slightly as he realised the communicator was still working just fine, despite being covered in soap, slime and water for an ungodly amount of time. Then he stopped, biting his lip in self-disgust. Damn. He shouldn't think like that. No one cared who made the equipment as long as he...as long as _it_ was useful. 

“Clint!” Steve squawked indignantly, grabbing for a towel and pulling it round himself hurriedly, already blushing at the thought of Natasha seeing him naked, and Tony quickly did the same, not because he cared about people seeing him – there were naked pictures of him all over the internet, after all – but because he could use the towel to hide the bruises and maybe, just maybe, out of sight would mean out of mind.

Bruce had turned away from them, his fists clenching and unclenching, and there was the faintest flush of green spreading visibly up his back. 

“Bruce?” Steve said carefully. “Are you alright?” 

On some level, Tony felt almost triumphant. If Bruce wasn't going to like the answers, then maybe he shouldn't have started the questions in the first place. Except he didn't want to make Bruce this mad, not really, and that was only made worse when Bruce spoke, his voice carefully modulated. “I'm....fine. Just....keep Tony back a moment, please.” He dropped into a low, muttering. “No....no, not now. _I'm_ handling this, just.....yes. Alright. Later. Later.” 

Before Tony could even start to react, Clint moved protectively in front of him like he was afraid Tony might just find _this_ the ideal moment to start poking Bruce with pointy things again. And that hurt. Bruce didn't need protecting from _him_. And still, he couldn't help the shudder at the thought of 'later'. Even if Bruce was angry with him, that didn't mean Hulk would be, he tried to tell himself. Hulk hadn't understood why Bruce was disgusted with him back when he was drinking and sleeping around. He'd treated Tony just the same way as he always did. But then, Tony didn't really understand why Bruce was angry now, so maybe Hulk would feel just the same way. 

Bruce relaxed, and offered a reassuring nod and a wan smile, and Thor, who had been standing next to Bruce in readiness, moved away, walking towards Tony with his hands held outstretched at his sides, the way he might approach a wounded animal. “I do not understand,” he said softly. “Why you would allow your paramour to abuse you in this way.” 

He bristled indignantly at the choice of words. “Okay, it's not abuse,” he said firmly. “Let's get that clear right now. He only hits me when I've done something wrong, so that makes it....” He hesitated. It wasn't 'fine' and it wasn't 'normal'. “....not abuse,” he finished lamely. 

The door swung open, making him jump, and Natasha stalked in, dressed in a silk bathrobe that definitely wasn't standard issue around these parts, her hair piled on top of her head and wrapped in a towel. She looked around them and raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason you called me into the men's showers?” she enquired. “Has Stark finally managed to convince the rest of you that team orgy night would be a good idea?” 

That wasn't fair. He was _trying_. “I don't say that sort of thing anymore,” he protested.

“No, you don't, do you?” Steve agreed sadly, still looking at Tony like he was something new and strange, and that was just ridiculous because Steve had hated it when he used to make those kind of comments. He'd said it showed he lacked respect and discipline, and when Mark had finally managed to get him to agree to stop, he'd been pleased. 

Natasha frowned and shut the door carefully, but not before saying something that had the two guards on the door scurrying away. “What is going on?” 

“Mark hits Tony,” Clint spat. “Hard enough to leave bruises. But apparently it's okay, because we've all known about it for months, and anyway, it's not abuse.” 

He flinched at the mocking tone. “You did know,” he argued. “And it isn't. It just isn't.” 

“I see,” Natasha said slowly, and he breathed a sigh of relief, because she didn't look surprised or shocked or angry or anything. But then, she never really looked those things, so maybe he wouldn't know if she was. “Perhaps we should have this conversation back at the tower?” 

“Mark's at the tower,” Bruce broke in. He was looking less green now, but somehow just as rage-y. 

“I had breakfast with him this morning,” Steve breathed, sounding sick. “I made him pancakes.” 

“He likes pancakes,” Tony offered helplessly. This whole situation had got way out of hand way too quickly, and what he wanted right now was to armour up and hide his face until he understood what was going on. But the Mark 14 was covered in slime, and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

“Maybe if Mark's there, the tower is exactly where we should be having this conversation,” Clint said coldly. 

“No!” He couldn't see a single way that would end well for him. Every time any of the Avengers commented on his behaviour to Mark, or even just in front of him, it always ended with Tony being corrected painfully. 

They all looked at him with varying degrees of pity, and he hated that. “Maybe we should just stay here for the moment,” Steve said slowly. “Tony, why...when did you tell us about Mark?” 

Maybe they really hadn't realised what was going on. But in some ways, that made it worse. They hadn't even bothered listening. “About two months after I started dating him,” he said in a low voice. “During dinner I told you he'd got physical and you said it was good for me. You all agreed.” It wasn't exactly a moment he was ever going to forget. They'd looked uncomfortable but they'd _agreed_. 

Steve was pale. “I thought you meant making love,” he said miserably. “You said you'd settled down because he was being physical when you stepped out of line, and I thought you meant he was rewarding you for good behaviour, or something. Oh, God, Tony, I'm so sorry.” 

“I am grieved to think we have failed you when you needed us, friend Anthony,” Thor said, his voice far too emotional for Tony's liking. “I would never desire anyone to hurt you.” 

“You sounded so casual,” Bruce said, and he sounded horrified. “It never even crossed my mind.” 

“But you saw,” he said insistently to Steve. “A couple of months back, on the roof. I know you saw, and you just walked away. You never even said anything.” None of this made sense.

“What?” Clint demanded dangerously, taking a step towards Steve, and Natasha quickly got in the way. 

“Explain, Rogers,” she said mildly. 

Steve's eyes were huge. “I...I thought the two of you were playing a game of some kind,” he stuttered. “He was laughing and you were....I mean, it looked like....I didn't think he was actually hurting you. I just...I thought you would be embarrassed if I brought it up.” 

Oh. He supposed that made sense. “I probably would have been,” he offered, as a kind of comfort. God knew, he was embarrassed enough now. He sighed. “Alright. So you didn't know, and now you do know. Fine. Whatever. So can we just move on and let things get back to normal?” 

“Is this the normal where your boyfriend beats you under our noses and we do nothing?” Natasha asked coolly.

He met her eyes defiantly. “Yes,” he bit off the word. 

“No.” It sounded like they'd all spoken at once. Score one for teamwork. 

“Why?” he asked, and when they all seemed ready to give an answer, he held up a hand. “No, really, why? You all like me more than you did before. That's down to Mark, and you were happy enough before you found out how he was doing it. If you like the results, why are you quibbling over the methods?” 

“We don't like you more,” Steve started, horrified. “Tony, we all just want you to be yourself.” 

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Sure. So back when you were yelling at me every time you saw me, sighing heavily at every obnoxious thing that came out of my mouth, talking about benching me...that was the me you preferred, right? Give me a break, Cap. You can't give me a single reason why things aren't better now than they were six months ago.” 

“They aren't better because he hurts you, Tony,” Bruce said, his eyes tinged green. “And that's wrong. It's as simple as that.” 

“It's not...” He brushed his hand through his hair irritably, the water dripping off ridiculously. “Look, I told you, he's careful. You saw the bruises, that's about as bad as it gets. I've been hurt way worse before, we all have. It's just not worth making a fuss over.”

They all exchanged guilty glances as though he somehow wouldn't notice. 

“Face it,” he steamrollered on. “If you haven't noticed anything wrong these past six months, maybe there's a good reason for that. Things are better for all of us.” He had to get out of here. He hitched the towel up protectively and started towards the door, confident that none of them would stop him.

“We thought things were better because you were safe and happy,” Thor asked, his voice softer than Tony had ever heard before. “Are you happy, shield brother?”

He hesitated at the door, not turning round. Was he happy? That was the sort of question he hated. He'd say he hadn't been completely happy since before Pepper left, but the truth was, he'd always been waiting for her to leave and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly happy.“I'm contented,” he offered. “Isn't that enough?” 

“Is it?” Thor asked. 

He shook his head and walked out. He'd find some clothes and head home....where Mark would be waiting. Oh. Well, he was going to have to tell him about this sooner or later, because he really doubted that the other Avengers were going to sit back and say nothing. Somehow he doubted that Mark was going to take it well. He wondered if Mark had assumed they already knew.

Behind him, he could hear them talking, could hear guilt and anger and misery, and he didn't want to listen. 

*

Steve immediately started to follow Tony out of the shower block, but Bruce stopped him quickly. “I, uh, think we should maybe give him some space,” he said hoarsely. 

Steve looked at him. His face was tinged green. Not Hulk green, more the green of a man fighting not to throw up. Steve knew exactly how he felt.

This....this didn't make sense. This was like a nightmare. He'd asked if it was a joke, and he might even still think so if it hadn't been for the complete confusion on Tony's face, like he hadn't understood what the problem was.

“Space?” Clint repeated incredulously. “You think we should just leave him alone? Cos it looks like that's what we've _been_ doing the past six months.” 

Bruce held up his hand placatingly. “I just think we shouldn't crowd him,” he said. “I...did you see his face? He was overwhelmed. This must have been a shock.” 

Yeah. A shock. This was a shock to all of them. It didn't make _sense_. Mark was friendly, goodhearted and open in a way Tony never was. Steve had seen the way Mark looked at Tony when he thought Tony couldn't see. Fond and smiling. He was good for Tony. That was what they all said. _He was good for Tony_. How could he be an abuser? How could Tony be a victim, if it came to that? He was one of the richest and most powerful men in the world – he was Iron Man for Pete's sake. And okay, he was vulnerable out of the suit, so maybe Steve could get how it could happen _once_ , but why had Tony let it continue? Why hadn't he had Mark arrested immediately? Why hadn't he just not seen him again? Why in the world had he asked Mark to move in with him? It didn't make _sense_. 

_Because he asked you_ , a soft voice whispered inside his head. _He asked you if it was okay, and you said_ yes.

But why would he even have to ask that? How could Tony think being abused could ever be okay? 

All he had were questions with no answers. If he hadn't seen the bruises, he probably wouldn't have believed it.

“Steve.” They were all looking at him expectantly, like they thought he had answer. “What do we do?” 

Bruce was right that Tony would probably want space. Certainly he'd walked out of here like he couldn't stand to be in the same room with them. He'd looked at them like they were crazy. But the thought of leaving him alone just seemed wrong. “We go after him,” he said slowly. “But not all of us. We don't want to crowd him, so we need to figure out - “

Clint grabbed his bare arm suddenly. “Where did Tony go?” he demanded. 

Steve blinked. “I don't know, back...” His eyes widened in shocked realisation. “Back home, I suppose,” he finished in a horrified whisper. Back home where Mark was waiting for him.

“Oh, God,” Bruce said, swallowing hard, his face paler than Steve had ever seen.

He forced himself to try and stay calm, for Bruce's sake more than anything else. 

“That doesn't mean he's with Mark,” he pointed out. “Now that he knows we don't agree - “

“ - it doesn't matter,” Natasha cut in crisply. “We have to proceed on the assumption that Stark is in enemy territory and under attack.” 

The tower was enemy territory. _Mark_ was the enemy. There was part of his brain that was still desperately pleading with him that all of this must be some kind of misunderstanding. But try as he might, he couldn't imagine how it could be. Not unless _mind control_ was involved. 

Bruce's fist slammed into the shower wall and the tiles cracked under a force Bruce shouldn't be capable of possessing.

“Bruce.....?” Steve said carefully, and he and Thor moved to Bruce's side immediately, ready to try and restrain Hulk if necessary. At least the Helicarrier wasn't in the air right now.

Bruce game them a tight smile, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I'm still me...but I think it would be a really bad idea for me to go to the tower right now.”

“I'll go,” Steve said determinedly. “Thor, you stay with Bruce.” He could see how this was affecting Bruce, and he knew they needed one of the heavy hitters there to deal with any possible Hulk incidents. 

Thor nodded, obviously not happy about having to stay behind, but as ever ready to stand his duty. “Look after our Shield Brother,” he said seriously. “Let him know he is cared for.” 

“I'm going with you,” Clint said quickly, his eyes cold and hard.

“No,” Natasha said, and she was talking to Steve, not Clint.

He glanced at her and she shook her head briefly. Right. He took a deep breath. This was about rescue, not revenge, and they couldn't waste anymore time. 

“Clint, you stay and keep SHIELD off our backs,” he instructed. Maybe they'd need to get the authorities involved later, but for the time being he wanted to try and keep this between themselves, for Tony's sake. “Don't tell them the truth and don't let them follow us.” 

Clint looked even more unhappy than Thor, but he didn't argue either. “Right. Get going then.”

He ran for the door, Natasha on his heels. Someone had left clothes for them in the antechamber and that was something. He dressed quickly, not even caring that for a brief moment Natasha was naked in front of him. 

No one seemed inclined to stop them as they strode through the helicarrier, even though he could see the frowning looks, and the odd agent trying to contact someone higher up to find out what was happening. Tony was about ten minutes or so ahead of them, he figured, as they found their way outside and Natasha commandeered the nearest car. That meant there wouldn't have been time enough for anything bad to happen. He was sure of it. 

Natasha was the faster driver so there wasn't even a question over who drove. And in the circumstances it shouldn't be surprising, but she kept silent, her eyes on the road, her jaw clenched, and eventually Steve couldn't bear it anymore. “What?” he asked. 

“I'm counting,” she told him, her voice remote. 

He tried to sound gentle. “Counting what?” 

“All the signs I missed.” There was a long pause as he tried to figure out what to say. “So far I have found one hundred and thirty seven,” she added conversationally. Her voice was completely casual, and if he didn't know so much better he might have believed she didn't care. 

“Natasha,” he tried. “You can't - “

“ - do not tell me I could not have known,” she warned him. “I could have known. I could very easily have known. Stark has been crying out for help and I have been ignoring him.” 

Steve thought back to the conversation in the shower and it didn't _seem_ like Tony was crying out for help. It didn't seem like Tony wanted help at all.

For the first time, Natasha's eyes flickered sideways and she looked at him. “Sometimes, when someone is trapped and beaten down, it becomes difficult to remember that this is not the way life is supposed to be.” 

Steve had been trapped and beaten down more times than he could count, and he'd _always_ fought back. But then, he'd never had his friends telling him that it was good for him. “Well, we're going to have to remind him that it's _not_ supposed to be this way,” he said fiercely. 

She pursed her lips and said nothing for a long moment. “What did you see?” she asked at last. “On the roof?” 

He didn't want to remember. “It was at that gala, when I went off to look for them,” he said tonelessly. “Tony was standing at the edge, against the wall. Mark had his hands around his throat and his leg pressed up to him. Tony was flushed. Mark was laughing. I thought it was _fine_.” He took a deep breath. “He was....aroused.” 

She glanced at him. “Stark?” 

He shook his head numbly. “Mark.” And as much as that sickened him, it wasn't the worst part. “I told them they should have waited until they got home. Tony didn't even say a word, Mark did all the talking, and I never even...” He hadn't really even looked at Tony. And if what Tony had hinted about was right, and he'd interrupted Tony being attacked and just walked away, how could Tony stand to be in the same room as him? How could he fight alongside him? Knowing and walking away would make Steve feel like a monster.

He already felt like one.

They arrived at the tower within twenty minutes and raced inside. The elevator was sitting there with the door wide open, and the second they stepped inside it slammed shut and started hurtling upwards. 

Steve blinked. “I didn't even press the button,” he said, his brow furrowed.

Natasha frowned and looked sharply up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, where is Mr Stark?” 

“Mr Stark and Mr Lowing are currently located within the communal kitchen,” JARVIS announced imperturbably. “I hoped from the earlier conversation between them and your own hurried entrance that you would be interested in joining them as soon as possible.” 

Tony was with Mark right now. His fingernails dug sharply into his palm. Nothing would be happening. Tony knew that they didn't approve after all, so he wouldn't let anything happen. “You knew,” he accused.

There was a pause. The elevator didn't slow down for a second. “Unlike yourself, I have no interest in seeing sir _quiet_ ,” JARVIS said, his voice so ice-like it made Steve shiver. 

Natasha grabbed his arm. “If Stark told him not to tell us, he would have to obey,” she murmured. 

And Steve nodded, because he was pretty sure that was true, but it wasn't _all_ that was true, and it wasn't what JARVIS had been talking about. JARVIS hadn't trusted that they would put a stop to this. And he remembered the way he'd joked with the others – God, so many times! - about how nice it was that Tony wasn't talking incessantly anymore, and he wasn't sure he could blame the AI for his conclusions. Had that really been because Mark was beating him? He felt sick at the thought. 

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. The world stopped turning. 

The open kitchen door was right across the hall and through it Steve could see Tony huddled against the counter, his arms flung up to protect his head and face as Mark, towering above him, rained down punches and kicks. Even at this distance Steve could see the blood splashed across the floor. He could see the look on Mark's face too. Forget fond and smiling, this was hard, furious and vicious. 

There was no misunderstanding in _this_. 

Mark drew his fist back for another punch, but by that time Steve had flung himself down the hall to the kitchen, impossibly fast even for him, and he grabbed Mark by the shoulder, hauling him away from Tony – away, away, _away_ – and throwing him across the kitchen. He was on him in an instant, intent on punching, punishing, not even caring that he was so much stronger that Mark didn't have a hope of fighting back.

“Steve,” Mark croaked out pleadingly, looking up at him with hurt and confusion, practically _begging_ him to stop, and Steve wondered how often Tony had looked at Mark like that and he drew his fist back, ready to wipe that look off Mark's face once and for all.

The repulsor blast caught him in the side, slamming him into the wall. He hit his head and took a second to sit up groggily, and by that time Iron Man had positioned himself between Steve and Mark, arms extended, ready to do battle.

He hadn't even heard Tony armouring up. And he knew that Tony could do it fast, but if he could do it now, why hadn't he done it before to protect himself from Mark? 

“Funny, I always heard Captain America hated bullies,” Iron Man said harshly. 

“I _do_ ,” Steve snapped at once as he got to his feet, his mind filled with memories of Mark hitting and Tony not defending himself.

“Uh huh.” Tony tilted his head, still not lowering his hands. “Sure didn't look like it from where I was standing.” 

He winced and forced himself to stay calm. “I'm not going to fight you, Tony,” he said, his hands spread wide. “I was trying to protect you.” 

“I didn't ask you to protect me,” Tony replied sharply. “I don't need protecting from Mark.” 

Mark. His eyes flickered away from Iron Man for a moment, looking for the threat. Mark was clambering to his feet now as well. His eye was already swelling shut, and there was blood trickling from his mouth and Steve didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed that he wasn't hurt worse.

Tony caught him looking and stood up straighter. “Mark, get behind me,” he said quickly. “Please.” 

“Stay away from him,” Steve warned at once, even as Mark started a humiliated shuffle closer.

Mark held his hands up. “Look,” he began, swallowing hard. “Steve, Natasha...let's talk about this like rational adults, okay? I know how that must have looked just now, but I promise it wasn't as bad as you're thinking. I lost my temper, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I did. Tony told me what he'd said to you, and I knew you would misinterpret it and I just...got mad, that's all.” 

“You got mad,” Steve repeated, his mouth twisted. “That doesn't justify abusing your partner. Nothing does.” 

“I know,” Mark said earnestly at the same time as Tony said “It's not abuse!” 

Mark took a deep breath. “I know,” he said again. “I have anger problems. I was working on them with a therapist at the VA, but I haven't been able to keep it up in case the bureau find out and suspend me. _You_ know what people can be like with PTSD, Steve, _please_. They called it shell shock in your day, right?” 

They did. And he had seen men declared cowards, their lives ruined...but that was no excuse.

“I'm _trying_ ,” Mark added, his voice cracking with sincerity. “As God is my witness, I'm trying. But sometimes Tony is just too much to stand, no matter how much I love him. You know how he can be. I never want to hurt him, but sometimes it's like I just can't stop myself.” 

Iron Man's shoulders were hunched. Steve had never seen the armour look so small. And Tony didn't say a word. 

“Tony, I'm sorry,” Mark said loudly. “Please forgive me. Please give me another chance.” 

“I'm not mad at you,” Tony promised quickly, and Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if he was hearing fear in Tony's voice. 

“You see?” Mark appealed to Steve. “Surely this is between Tony and me, and if he's prepared to forgive me can't you overlook me losing my temper a couple of times?” 

Steve sucked in air through his teeth. He could almost believe the apologies and sincerity, but that was too dismissive. “The way Tony tells it, it's been a lot more than a couple of times,” he said dangerously, taking a step forwards, and Iron Man was immediately back on alert.

“No,” Tony protested. “No I didn't. It's only been a couple of times, just like Mark said, and I _told_ you it's never been that bad.” 

Holograms flickered into life over the kitchen table. One scene after another of Mark and Tony, little pictures of violence, threat and intimidation. There was too many of them passing too quickly for Steve to keep count, but there sure as hell were more than a couple.

Mark paled immediately, his eyes darting round the room like he knew the game was up.

Furiously, Iron Man made a dismissive gesture and the holograms vanished. “I told you to mute,” he hissed, leaving the coms open.

“I believe I did not say a word,” JARVIS replied, sounding very gentle and apologetic and about as far from the way he'd spoken to Steve earlier as could be imagined. 

“Semantics,” Tony said shortly. He turned to look at Steve, and the Iron Man mask was expressionless as ever so Steve had to be imagining the lost and broken look. “That's...you can't just go on that, okay? There's no context. You didn't see what I did to deserve it.” 

There were times Steve longed for a mask that could hide his face completely. “Tony,” he said gently. “There's nothing you could do to deserve that.” 

“No,” Tony shook his head frantically. “No, you don't _understand_. You almost like me now – you put up with me at least, and that's because of Mark. If it wasn't for him you would have thrown me off the team and out the tower months back. Things are _better_ this way. Everything's better.” 

Where had that come from? He'd thought of benching Tony, but he'd never planned on throwing him off the team altogether. And throwing him out the tower? Tony _owned_ the tower. How could that even happen? 

“It's not better for you,” he tried to argue.

“That doesn't matter,” Tony countered, and then quickly looked at Mark. “Um, I mean, things _are_ better for me. Mark treats me right.” 

He shuddered at the thought of all the way Mark had been treating Tony. None of them could be called _right_. And even though Tony was in his armour and therefore safe, he was still too damned close to Mark for Steve to feel comfortable.

“I like you,” Natasha said suddenly and they all turned to look at her. She'd been so quiet that Steve had practically forgotten she was there, but there she was, standing in the doorway, her eyes trained straight on Iron Man. “You said we 'almost like you now', right? Well, I like you and I liked you long before _he_ came on the scene.” 

“Right.” Tony snorted. “Someone who makes a living through lies and manipulation tells me she likes me and I'm supposed to just take her word for it? Do me a favour, Widow, and stop playing games.” 

Natasha inclined her head. “I am a very good liar,” she agreed. “And I am very bad at anything real. But I like you.” She walked across the room almost casually and wrapped her arms around Iron Man and Steve thought maybe he was just too surprised to react. Steve certainly was. Natasha didn't _hug_. “I like you, dorogoi moy,” she said in a whisper. “And I have let you down. If it is within my power, no one will ever hurt you again.” 

Tony shook his head. “No,” he said sounding beyond confused and gracefully she stepped away from him. “That's not....why are you _doing_ this?” He took a couple of steps back towards Mark who quickly stepped forwards.

“Calm down, Tony,” he murmured, running his hand over the armour everywhere Natasha had touched, blatantly possessive and sexual. “It's going to be okay.” 

Steve's jaw clenched. “You should leave,” he said flatly. “Now.” 

“That's my decision, not yours,” Tony said immediately, tensing again like Steve was the threat here. 

Mark looked at Steve for a long moment, and Steve looked right back, his gaze heavy and even and full of warning. “I think maybe I _should_ go,” Mark said slowly.

“What?” Tony spun round to look at him. “No! You don't have to leave just because of Steve.” 

“Just for a few days,” Mark said softly, reaching out and stroking his finger down Tony's armoured cheek. “Just until everything's calmed down a bit.” 

“No.” Tony shook his head. “No, I don't want you to go. Please don't leave me.” 

Mark glanced back at Steve and Natasha. “I don't think it would be safe for me to stay.” 

Steve couldn't exactly argue with that. He _wanted_ Mark to leave. Right now.

“Then I'll come too,” Tony said determinedly. “We'll get a suite at the Plaza – Jorge always keeps a light in the window for me – and it'll be just like a vacation.” 

“No,” Steve said immediately, horrified at the thought of Tony being alone with Mark again. “I can't let you do that.” 

“Can't let me?” Tony spluttered incredulously. “Am I a prisoner now?!” 

“We don't want you hurt,” Natasha said gently.

“It's okay, Tony,” Mark said with a tender, forgiving smile. “It's just for a few days. I'll go stay in a hotel tonight, and I'll call you, okay?” 

“As soon as you get in,” Tony pleaded. “You've got the credit card I gave you, right? Use it, please. Make sure you've got everything you need.” 

“Of course,” Mark agreed. “Take your helmet off and let me say goodbye.”

To Steve's discomfort, Tony obeyed and Mark leaned forwards and kissed him fiercely, and Steve felt like he should be _stopping_ this. 

“I'll miss you,” Mark whispered in Tony's ear, and it was obvious he thought only Tony would be able to hear. “I'll miss your smile and your soft lips and the way you whimper my name.” 

“I will escort you out,” Natasha said coldly, stepping towards him.

“Goodbye,” Tony said, choked and miserable, and Steve thought maybe he really didn't get why this was happening.

“I'll see you soon,” Mark promised, sounding sad and noble, like he figured he was the one making a sacrifice here.

Natasha's eyes flickered briefly towards Steve as she walked a step behind Mark, herding him to the elevator, and he could see her promising that she'd see Mark left and knew not to come back. He had no doubt she was going to threaten Mark, and he had a feeling he should have more of a problem with that than he did.

Tony's eyes stayed fixed on Mark until the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone with Steve. There was silence for a long moment while Steve desperately tried to figure out what to say. The only words he had were 'I'm sorry' and that wasn't good enough.

“I think you should see a doctor,” he said instead, at last. There was blood and bruises on Tony's face now, he was upset to realise. Either Mark had been too enraged to be discreet, or he'd figured that since they already knew it didn't matter.

Tony didn't look at him, gazing blankly at the elevator. “I told you it's not that bad. He's careful. He's always careful. He even stays away from the Arc Reactor.” 

“That's not the _point_ ,” Steve said as gently as he knew how. “He's not supposed to hurt you at all. You know that, right?” 

It was the wrong thing to say. “Don't patronise me, Captain,” Tony said vehemently, his head snapping up furiously. “Yes, I'm well aware it doesn't fit into your cookie cutter idea of perfect American life. But like I said, you like the results, so maybe you should just put on your big girl panties and accept that life isn't always perfect. You didn't care to listen when I tried to tell you before, so where do you get the nerve to come in and throw my boyfriend out?” 

Steve took a deep breath. “Are you angry because we threw him out now, or because we didn't throw him out six months ago?” 

Tony deflated abruptly. “I'm not angry,” he muttered, his voice strange, and he turned aside, looking away from Steve like he was hoping Steve might just forget all about him.

“We would have thrown him out, you know,” Steve pressed on. “If we'd known, if we'd understood. None of us would have let him hurt you.” He took a step forwards and reached out towards Tony, just intent on taking his arm, being comforting and reassuring. Tony flinched back, his eyes wild with fear. 

They stared at each other moment.

“I'm going upstairs,” Tony said abruptly.

And obviously Steve wasn't invited. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” he offered desperately. “Someone you want to see?” 

“Mark,” Tony spat venomously. “I want Mark.” 

There really wasn't anything he could say to that. He watched Tony disappear into the elevator and told himself that Tony was safe at least.

*

For a moment as he walked into the elevator he considered chasing after Mark instead. But he was afraid he'd just make himself look stupid – Mark hadn't even fought to stay – and besides, the elevator started moving before he'd made up his mind. 

JARVIS. The traitor. He didn't say anything even when he reached the penthouse, trudged out to the balcony and let the disassembly rig remove the rest of the armour. 

And...there. No armour and at Mark's instruction he'd told JARVIS not to 'look' in the penthouse unless invited. He was actually alone. 

The tears came out of nowhere, and once they started, they just wouldn't stop. He raked his hands through his hair, tearing into it furiously. The pain was nowhere near what he deserved. Nothing could be. He'd screwed up again. He didn't even understand how, he just knew that this morning he'd had a boyfriend who loved him and made him a better person, and a team who respected him and put up with him, and now he didn't have _any_ of that. All because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut. All because he'd actually assumed that people listened when he talked. Why didn't he know better by now? 

He stood up and stumbled back inside, wincing as he put weight on his leg. His knee had twisted when Mark had kicked it out from under him, and the armour gave enough support he hadn't felt it too much until now. Now it hurt, and walking was a bitch. He gave half a thought to the painkillers Mark kept in his nightstand, but he'd promised he wouldn't take them without permission, and besides, he didn't really _need_ them, right? Pain was pain. He was supposed to be able to deal with it like an adult. 

He wanted a drink too. And he definitely wasn't allowed that. 

The penthouse seemed too big without Mark...too big and too empty. He stood hesitantly in the middle of the floor for a long moment before perching uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa. When had this place stopped feeling like home?

There was too much noise in his head to think. Mark had left. The Avengers hadn't known. Mark had _left_. The Avengers _hadn't known_. 

How had they not known? The laugh escaped him, tears giving it the tinge of hysteria. Somehow he'd managed to accidentally keep a secret from Black Widow for six months. How was that even possible? 

Maybe it wasn't. It wasn't like he'd been going out of his way to hide it, after all. Yeah, he'd tried to keep his bruises covered with clothes or make-up, and he never actually mentioned it again, and sure up until tonight he and Mark had been careful to keep all their little...incidents....behind closed doors, but it hadn't felt like a secret. More like something they all agreed not to talk about. There were so many times that he'd been sure someone was giving him a knowing look; could it really have been all in his head? Or had some of them known and now they were just pretending it was a surprise?

Natasha had to have known, right? She wanted him kept in line, she cared about results, not methods, and besides, she didn't like him....except that she'd said that she liked him, and she'd put her arms around him and called him something in Russian that sounded like it meant something...but she was a world class liar and she _still_ only cared about results, and _she didn't like him_. So much easier to imagine that she'd known and just hadn't told the others. And if she knew, then Clint must have known, and maybe Steve. He wasn't sure about that. Oh, Steve could lie when he had to, but Tony wasn't convinced he was capable of faking that level of outrage. Besides, if they both knew, why would they have bothered pretending? 

He was going round in circles. He wished Mark was here. Mark just had this way of making everything clearer.

What was supposed to happen next? Probably he didn't have a chance of persuading the Avengers that Mark didn't hit him. Maybe he could still convince them it wasn't _really_ abuse, though. Maybe he could convince them that he deserved it and he _needed_ Mark. Because he did. Hell, less than an hour after Mark had left and he already felt like he was falling apart. 

He felt like he was completely alone. He hated it. Angrily, he pulled at his hair again, and admitted that even arguing was better than being alone. And didn't that just give the final proof of how pathetic he was? “JARVIS?” he called softly. “Are you there?” 

“Whenever you need me, sir,” JARVIS replied instantly. 

He closed his eyes, not willing to confront just how comforting that was. “You didn't have to show them that,” he said accusingly. If JARVIS hadn't played his little slide show, maybe Mark wouldn't have felt like he had to leave.

“I was concerned that Captain Rogers was in danger of believing Lowing's assertions as to the nature of your relationship,” JARVIS answered.

“So I suppose you're happy now, right?” he asked savagely. Now that Mark had left him. Now that Steve had beaten Mark up. Now that Tony was alone and humiliated. 

There was a pause. “All I desired was that you be safe and happy,” JARVIS said at last. “And if I have to give up your regard in my attempts to accomplish that, as much as it pains me, I am prepared to make that sacrifice. If you feel you can no longer trust me, if you wish to deactivate me, then that is the price I must pay for my actions.” 

“No,” he said sharply. “No. I would never do that.” He sighed. JARVIS had at least been consistent this whole time. His motivations were transparent and they _were_ completely based on Tony's well-being. No matter what else was going on, JARVIS at least was indisputably on his side. “'m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You have nothing to apologise for, sir,” JARVIS said warmly, raising the temperature of the room a couple of degrees, and Tony clung to the warmth like it was a real hug.

“I don't know what to do next,” he admitted. “How am I supposed to work with them? How am I even supposed to look them in the eye?” It had been hard enough when he'd thought they'd known and approved. Now when he would be seeing that _pity_ , he didn't know what to do. His heart beat faster and his chest ached with the effort of breathing. “I'm just gonna stay up here, okay, J? I'm gonna stay here and never leave again. And no one gets in. No exceptions.” 

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS agreed gently. “If that is what you need.” 

“Except Mark,” he added quickly, suddenly terror-stricken at the thought that Mark might come home and not be able to get in.

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS agreed unhappily.

He relaxed fractionally. Realistically he knew he couldn't hide away forever. Sooner or later he'd have to face the music, and everyone would be waiting for him to screw up and without Mark that was a stone-cold certainty. He was going to fail and lose everything.

“JARVIS?” he whispered softly, his mouth dry.

“Sir?” JARVIS murmured, matching his hushed tone exactly.

He swallowed hard. “Please don't leave me, okay?” 

“Never, sir,” JARVIS said without the smallest shred of hesitation.

He took his phone out and laid it on the table and sat watching it intently, waiting for Mark to call.


	9. Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah....*shuffles feet* Sorry about the long wait. I just lost all inspiration for this fic despite having a good idea what was going to happen. I hope people are still reading.

* * *

_"Agent Coulson? This is Colonel Rhodes. I want to talk to you about Tony. I know you're still out recuperating right now, and I apologise, but Tony's in trouble and I got nowhere else to turn. Something's happened since I saw him last year. He's not acting right, and I think it has something to do with that new boyfriend of his. If I had any choice, I wouldn't be leaving right now, but I have to so I'm hoping you can keep an eye out for Tony for me. I know we don't know each other well, but I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was important. Tony trusts you. I'm hoping there's a good reason for that."_

Phil stared thoughtfully at the phone in his hand. The message was unexpected to say the least. He _didn't_ know Colonel Rhodes well, but they'd met a couple of times and of course he'd read the file, and he was convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that James Rhodes was among the last men in the world to ever cry wolf.

He wished he'd been able to take the call at the time – he could have done with more details – but unfortunately, the doctors had confiscated his cell on Fury's orders after he'd been caught using it to run an operation in Bangalore. And the briefest of searches through SHIELD databases convinced him that Rhodes was going to be out of reach for the immediate future. No, all he had was the information he had on hand, and that was sparse enough.

He hadn't seen Tony in person for several months now. He'd come by at first while Phil was still in critical condition, but not after he'd got moved to the rehabilitation unit. That didn't really bother him; they were friends, but not that kind of close, and Tony often sent messages or gifts along with Clint and Natasha, and he sent sporadic emails and texts full of jokes, things he thought Phil might find interesting, and meerkats for some reason. He'd assumed it was just because Tony didn't like hospitals. Now he was wondering if there'd been some other reason.

Pursing his lips, he thought back over every time Clint or Natasha had mentioned Tony over the last few months. Neither of them had expressed any kind of concern about him like Rhodes had. They had mentioned that he had a new boyfriend, but they hadn't given any real details beyond vague approval. Clint had said that Tony had been a bit quiet lately, but he hadn't seemed to think it was a problem...or at least, he hadn't let Phil know if he thought it was a problem. He sighed. Since he got stabbed, everyone had been at pains to try and keep him in the dark about anything they thought might stress him out. It was entirely possible that the Avengers knew exactly what Rhodes was talking about, but hadn't told Phil.

Although if that was the case, why wouldn't Rhodes have gone to the Avengers with this?

There was the sound of voices outside his door. He heard Tony's name and raising his eyebrows, quickly opened the door a fraction, took cover behind it, and listened.

" - so I was called over to the decontamination unit this morning, after the Avenger's battle," one of the nurses – Susie – was saying.

"Oh, God, was anyone hurt?" Janice exclaimed, and Phil waited, tense. He hadn't even heard that there was any kind of battle this morning. He hated being out of the loop.

"No, no," Susie said reassuringly. "But apparently ten minutes or so into decon, Romanov went into the male shower with the rest of them, and then five minutes later, Stark stormed out of there and headed back to the tower like a bat out of hell, and five minutes after _that_ Romanov and Captain Dreamy went after him, and Barton tripped the agents that were assigned to follow them and then apparently made three debriefing officers chase him all over the helicarrier before they finally cornered him in the elevator shaft."

Phil knew Clint, and he knew most of the agents currently assigned to debriefing on the helicarrier. He very much doubted that any of them would be able to corner Clint unless he wanted them to. Which told him that Clint had been acting as decoy, presumably for Natasha and Steve, since he'd stopped the agent following them. And Natasha and Steve had wanted to follow Tony...

"Wow," Janice said, and Phil could picture the wide-eyed look. "What do you think was going on?"

"No idea," Susie answered. "But it can't be anything good, right?"

No. Phil didn't think so either.

They moved on, and he waited until they were out of earshot before ducking back into his room. It seemed like it might be about time to go back on active duty, no matter what the doctors said. Calmly but quickly, he pulled on his shoes and jacket and picked up his pills and taser-cane. After a second of deliberation, he grabbed the hoodie Tony had given him soon after he started physiotherapy. It was black with a massive Iron Man face on the front. It was also handmade, luxurious, and without a doubt the warmest and most comfortable piece of clothing Phil had ever owned. He got cold very easily these days, and he found the hoodie exceptionally comforting after a bad physio session. In short, it was both extremely annoying, and incredibly thoughtful, which made it a perfect gift from Tony.

Pulling the hood up over his head, he slipped to the door, looked around quickly to make sure there were no people, and then carefully sneaked out of the medical facility, dodging everyone who looked like they might stop him. Which was everyone, really. By his estimation, they'd realise he was gone within an hour, and realise he'd left of his own accord when they checked the cameras shortly after that. And that left him very little time to work with...so he headed to the parking lot, stole Dr Emett's car and drove straight to Avenger's tower.

His security clearance got him into the elevator that led to the communal area, he was pleased to see. He'd never been here since just before the Battle of New York, while it was still Stark Tower, but Clint and Natasha had described the renovations. "Welcome, Agent Coulson," JARVIS said warmly as he stood in the elevator. "It is very nice to see you again."

"Likewise," he said absently. "Can you tell me who's up there?"

"Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov, Agent Barton, Dr Banner and Thor are currently in the communal kitchen," JARVIS told him. "Mr Stark is currently in the penthouse and is not receiving visitors."

Phil nodded. It sounded like it was Tony against the rest of the Avengers, which fitted with what the nurses had been gossiping about. Some kind of argument about something Tony had done, he might guess, if it wasn't for Colonel Rhodes' message and the fact that Steve and Natasha had followed Tony and hadn't wanted SHIELD involvement. As it was, he didn't think it was anything so simple. "And Mark Lowing?" he asked, embarrassed to realise he remembered the name from an online gossip column. "Tony's boyfriend? Is he here?"

JARVIS paused infinitesimally. "Mr Lowing does not currently reside here," he said calmly. "He is currently a guest in the penthouse suite at the Plaza."

"I see," Phil said slowly. A break up? Did that explain anything?

The elevator slowed and stopped and the doors slid open. He walked through towards the kitchen, his hand pressed against his side, leaning heavily on his cane. This was longer than he was normally on his feet, and he was already starting to feel tired.

Steve, Natasha and Thor were standing around the kitchen table. They looked like he'd caught them in the middle of an argument. Clint was perched on the counter, glowering indiscriminately. Bruce was down on his hands and knees scrubbing at the floor. There was no stain there that Phil could see, but somehow, he looked like he'd been at it for a while.

They all turned and stared as he walked in.

Predictably, Natasha was the first to recover. "Phil! When did they let you out of the hospital?" she said, smiling brightly and if Phil didn't know her so well, he might be fooled.

"They didn't," he said, looking at each of them in turn thoughtfully. "So, what's been going on?" he asked. "I heard there was some excitement this morning."

"You mean the giant smelly slug things?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised. "I wouldn't have thought that would be enough to make you want to stage a jail break."

"I didn't mean the slug things," he said, making a mental note to look up the exact details of the battle later. "I meant what's been going on with you."

"Nothing," Bruce lied. He did it well, but not anywhere near well enough.

Phil looked round the room again, letting the silence play out. They were all hiding guilt with greater or lesser success. They were guilty, and Tony was hiding upstairs... "So, what did you guys do to Stark?" he asked conversationally, and took careful note of the flinches.

"Nothing," Clint said, meeting his eyes evenly. It could have been a denial. But it wasn't. It was a confession.

He nodded. "I see." He looked up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, would you tell Mr Stark that I would like to see him?"

"As I said, Agent Coulson, Mr Stark is not currently receiving visitors," JARVIS said imperturbably.

That wasn't exactly unexpected. He nodded again, thinking for a second. "Please, tell him Agent would like to see him," he suggested. "And tell him what I'm wearing." After all, right now he was literally wearing his allegiance on his chest.

There was a long pause. Phil waited patiently. Eventually, the elevator in the corridor opposite slid open.

"Thank you, JARVIS," he said politely, walking towards it hurriedly. He couldn't count on Tony not changing his mind. Steve took a step towards the elevator after him, but Phil turned and looked at him kindly. "Is that a good idea?"

Mutely, Steve shook his head.

"Sorry, Captain," he said regretfully as Steve stepped back and the doors shut in his face.

In these situations – really, in _any_ situation – Phil tried to avoid going in with too many preconceived ideas. Theories were good, but it was too easy to get wedded to them and miss what was actually going on. And in this case, what was actually going on...He kept his face calm as he walked out into the penthouse to see Tony standing hunched in front of the bar, his face bruised and bloody.

"Mr Stark," he said genially. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."

"Did Fury send you to tell me I'm off the team?" Tony asked. He sounded more defeated than Phil had ever heard him.

"I'm not here on behalf of SHIELD right now," he said, gesturing at his hoodie by way of evidence. "Thank you for this, by the way. It's come in handy."

Tony stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed like what Phil was saying didn't quite make sense to him. "Yeah that's...I'm not...no..." He shook his head rapidly. "Should you be out of the hospital?"

"No," Phil admitted. "In fact, I'm expecting a SHIELD medical retrieval team to turn up within the next half hour. Do you think someone can give them coffee?"

It was easy to see that Tony was being thrown way further off balance than he should have been. Normally, he was much better equipped to roll with the punches. But then, it looked like there had already been a lot of punches. And Susie had been clear there'd been no injuries this morning. "So how long has Mark been hitting you?" he asked, easing himself down onto the sofa. Honestly, he wasn't going to make it through this conversation if he had to stay on his feet.

Tony hunched in on himself a fraction more, but that was more than enough to tell Phil that his shot in the dark really hadn't been. "How long have you known?"

"About ten seconds now," he said levelly, secretly a little hurt at the question.

"Oh." Tony said quietly. "I thought Natasha might have told you."

He paused, mind racing. Tony hadn't meant that Natasha might have told him downstairs. And that didn't make sense. "Did Natasha know?"

"Yes." He sounded like he was trying to convince myself. Phil didn't believe it for a second. Even if he didn't have very strong suspicions that Natasha was fond of Tony, she would never let anything endanger the team like that without reporting it at least or, more likely, taking the sort of direct action that Phil would have to spend hours in meetings with higher-ups defending. "So how _did_ you know?" Tony asked suspiciously.

Phil smiled disarmingly. "I put it together. It's my super power."

"Yeah." Tony's lips didn't so much as twitch. He looked more exhausted than Phil felt, and Phil was still recovering from major surgery. "I wish I had one of those." It was soft and tired and probably not meant to be overheard by another human being. "Why did you come here, Coulson?"

"It's Agent," he reminded Tony gently. "I got a call from Colonel Rhodes a few days ago. He left a message I didn't get till this morning. He was worried about you. And now I can see why."

"I'm fine," Tony said automatically. There was something close to fear in his stance. Like a trapped animal. He was going to need to move carefully.

"You know, I passed by the other Avengers downstairs," he tried. "They didn't look like they thought you were fine." And, seeing the way Tony looked now, Phil could understand why. They'd done nothing, huh?

Tony bristled defensively. "Well, maybe if they listened five months back they wouldn't be so upset now," he snapped.

Yeah. They'd done nothing. "What happened five months back?"

There was a pause and Tony deflated. "Nothing. It doesn't matter." He paced awkwardly and stopped abruptly, looking round apprehensively and crossing and uncrossing his arms like he didn't know where to put himself.

Phil resisted the urge to invite him to sit down. This was Tony's home, or it was supposed to be. Making him feel like a guest was only going to make things worse in the long run. Although with that in mind, he realised that the penthouse didn't look so much like Tony's anymore. The artwork on the walls was gone, replaced by other pieces, less vivid ones. Less Tony ones. The sofa was new too, and the clutter of tech components had vanished. If he was going to profile this place, he wouldn't think that Tony Stark lived here. And that was one hell of a change to effect in less than six months. "So what does matter?" he asked curiously.

"They made him leave," Tony said abruptly.

"Mark?" he clarified, despite already knowing the answer.

Tony nodded. "Yeah."

"Because he hit you?" Phil asked quietly, watching Tony keenly.

"It's not like that," Tony said desperately.

"Isn't it?" He kept his voice soft. This wasn't about arguing. On some level, Tony had to know what Mark had done was wrong. Challenging him wasn't going to help.

Tony looked away. "He had to hit me."

"Right," Phil said neutrally.

"He had to," Tony insisted.

"I didn't argue," he pointed out.

"You looked..." Tony broke off and rubbed at his bruises tiredly. "Why are you here, Agent Coulson?"

"I got a message from Colonel Rhodes," he reminded him. "He thought you were in trouble." Although Phil would bet good money that _this_ wasn't what Rhodes had been imagining.

"You don't work for Rhodey," Tony said harshly. "You barely know Rhodey."

He shrugged easily. "We have a mutual friend."

Tony turned away completely now, leaning heavily on the bar. "I'm no one's friend," he said quietly.

He resisted the urge to argue with that, to list the people who cared deeply about Tony's wellbeing. Either Tony already knew that, or he wasn't going to believe it. "So why do you think I'm here?" he asked instead.

"To evaluate me," Tony said, swinging round to stare at him confrontationally. "To decide if I'm still worth working with, or whatever. Why else would you be sitting there and listening to me talk?"

There was a certain amount of evaluation going on here, it was true. It wasn't like that was something he could just shut off. But this was evaluation on his own time, and he had no intention of sharing his conclusions with SHIELD, at least not without Tony's express permission. And it had nothing to do with Tony's _worth._ "I think you could use someone listening to you, "he said with absolute truth.

Tony laughed scornfully. "And that's you, is it?"

"Stark..." He hesitated, trying to find the right words to reach him. " _This_ isn't my first rodeo either."

"What?" Tony stared at him for a long moment and then, to Phil's relief, he crept forwards and sat on the sofa opposite. He still looked uncomfortable, but at least he didn't look like he was in danger of keeling over.

"I've been handler for a lot of agents," he explained slowly. "A lot of men and women who spend their time putting themselves in harms way. Sometimes when they come home...the lines get blurry." He'd counselled agents who'd found themselves on both sides. The priority was always ensuring the safety and wellbeing of the victim.

"Right." Tony nodded intently. "So this is normal, right? I should just suck it up and get on with it."

"That's not what I said," Phil reminded him patiently. "I said sometimes the lines get blurred. That's not a justification. There are some things you never have to put up with, Tony. Your boyfriend hitting you? That's one of them."

"He wouldn't have to do it if I didn't keep screwing up," Tony said defensively.

"And who decides if you've screwed up?" Phil asked quietly.

Tony laughed bitterly. "Everyone, Agent. The world, the media, my...the team. Every time someone has a problem with the way I act, all they have to do is have a quiet little word with Mark and suddenly the problem goes away. Captain America does it all the time. I'm surprised that's not enough to have you jumping on the bandwagon."

And that made this much more complicated. Well, he'd never thought that Steve Rogers couldn't make mistakes. Still hurt to actually see the evidence. "Do you really think they knew what was really going on?" he asked. "They saw the bruises in the shower today, right? I'm guessing they weren't happy."

"They liked the results," Tony said quietly. "They shouldn't make such a fuss about the methods."

He nodded. "We never did get around to actually debriefing after Afghanistan, did we?" he asked suddenly.

"No," Tony said warily.

"The Ten Rings wanted you to build weapons for them, right?" he asked, like he didn't already know the details off by heart. "And they weren't inclined to make a fuss about the methods. Where are they now?"

Tony looked at him stonily. "Dead."

"Dead," Phil repeated. "Because they tried to turn you into something you're not."

There was a pause. "You can't compare the two."

"I'm not," Phil said at once. "I'm just saying that the last time someone tried to use pain to coerce you into doing what they wanted, you weren't trying to convince yourself they had your best interests at heart.

"How is that not comparing?" Tony demanded rhetorically. "They're completely different."

"Yes they are," Phil agreed. "Why don't you tell me why?"

Tony hesitated against. "Mark...he really does have my best interests at heart. He's trying to make me into a better person."

"Who gave him the right to decide what makes you a better person?" Phil asked softly.

"Just stop it, okay?" Tony said, scrubbing at his face. "You make it sound like I've been brainwashed."

"Haven't you been?" Phil asked. "It seems he's got you convinced that everything you do is wrong, and that you need to somehow prove your worth, is that right?"

Tony laughed. "I didn't need anyone else to tell me that. My ability to screw up is legendary."

Having both an enormous ego and low self-esteem should be impossible. It was almost impressive that Tony managed to pull it off. "But he does tell you that," he persisted. "And he's the one who tells you when the other Avengers are angry with you, is that right?"

"That doesn't mean he's not right," Tony answered quickly. "He's good at people. I'm not."

"Isn't it up to your friends to tell you when they're angry with you?" Phil asked. "And don't they have the right to know if you're going to get hurt because they're angry?"

"I..." Tony shook his head. "I don't listen. I need to be kept in line. I deserve this."

Damnit. "I happen to disagree," he said gently. "Tony, please believe me. You're not thinking clearly on this."

"I just want Mark to come home," Tony whispered.

"That's not what you need right now," he said firmly. He looked at Tony critically for a second. "Have you seen a doctor recently?"

Tony shook his head quickly. "It's never bad enough to need one. Mark knows to be careful. It's not like we ever know when we might be called to assemble."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you get beaten by your boyfriend for not being good enough and then fly off to save the planet...and you don't see any kind of disconnect between those two things?"

"It's not like..." Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Being Iron Man doesn't make me a good person suddenly. It doesn't wipe away all the shit I've done, or give me a pass on being annoying or obnoxious or a selfish slut or whatever."

Never mind a doctor, Phil wanted Tony to go see a therapist as soon as possible. But he thought that pushing for either would probably be a step too far right now. "It doesn't give you a pass," he agreed. "But you know what? Being annoying and obnoxious sometimes doesn't make you a bad person either. I'll freely admit you can be both, but I enjoy spending time with you because you're also funny and generous and goodhearted. I've been called bland, a workaholic and annoyingly secretive, and I'll admit to at least two of those. We are not our bad qualities, Mr Stark."

Tony's jaw was set stubbornly. He looked like he was trying his best not to take in what Phil was saying.

"Will you let me take a look at your injuries?" he asked. "I'm no doctor, but I've got advanced training in field medicine. I can at least determine if you need more help than I can give."

"I'm fine," Tony said automatically.

"Please," Phil said and waited for a long moment while Tony struggled.

"Alright," he said at last, and Phil wasn't entirely sure why.

There wasn't really anything he hadn't been expecting. Lots of bruises and a couple of cracked ribs at least. Nothing that would respond to anything except rest. He frowned at the ring of bruises around Tony's throat. "Looks like he tried to kill you," he commented blandly.

"He didn't mean it," Tony said, hunching away from Phil instinctively. "He was just angry. Playing around."

Phil nodded. It seemed like maybe the rest of the Avengers had found out just in time. That sort of violence escalated, whatever Tony thought. "You should take some painkillers," he said. "Do you have any around?"

"I'm not allowed," Tony said automatically.

He hesitated. "Have you already taken some?" he asked. He didn't bother asking if Tony had been drinking, he could already tell that he hadn't.

"No," Tony said, looking away awkwardly. "Mark doesn't like it...since I stopped drinking, he's afraid I'm going to start relying on pills instead."

"Uh huh." With an effort, he didn't comment on that. "Well, do me a favour and take a couple anyway, okay? I need to take mine now, and I'd hate to be the only one."

"They're in Mark's nightstand," Tony said but he didn't make a move. Phil guessed that going into Mark's space was something else Tony wasn't supposed to do.

"I'll get them," he said easily, letting Tony see him walk into the bedroom and fetch the pills like it was nothing. "Here," he said, passing Tony the bottle and a glass of water before taking out his own pills and shaking them into his hand. He waited until he'd seen Tony do the same before swallowing them. "Thank you," he said quietly when he'd seen Tony take them.

"Agent Coulson," JARVIS cut in smoothly. "The medical retrieval team has arrived. I'm afraid they are armed and do not appear to want coffee."

That wasn't surprising. And he had no real doubt that if he didn't appear, they would eventually try and storm the tower. Which would just be embarrassing, frankly. He sighed. "I'd better go with them. Tony...are you going to be alright?"

"Sure," Tony said with a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Lots of reasons," Phil said. "You don't have to be alright, you know." He rubbed his hand over his forehead briefly. "I wonder if I can impose on you?" he asked. "I don't want to go back to living in the hospital, but I don't want to move into SHIELD quarters. Do you have any rooms free?"

"Want to keep an eye on me, Agent?" Tony asked, his mouth twisted.

"Yes," Phil agreed. "And I want to get away from puddings that come in a cup."

Tony sighed. "Of course you can stay here," he said. "Mi tower es su tower and all that."

"Thank you," he said gravely. "I'll be back later. In the meantime, please try and rest and get something to eat. And call me if you need anything."

He waited until he saw the nod, and he smiled before he headed to the elevator. That could have gone worse, but it could have gone a hell of a lot better. He wasn't happy with how quiet Tony had been, and he _really_ wasn't happy with how hurt he had been. Probably it was a good thing he didn't have a way of reporting back to Colonel Rhodes. This wasn't something Rhodes needed to hear while he was on active deployment. He could only hope he got back soon so he could give Tony the sort of support he really needed.

Downstairs, Thor and Bruce had vanished, leaving Natasha, Clint and Steve to face the medical retrieval team. Natasha was standing immediately behind the agents, watching them intently. They were all looking very nervous.

"Good afternoon," he said, smiling pleasantly.

They straightened up to attention. "Agent Coulson, sir. We have orders to take you back to the hospital."

"Of course," he agreed easily. His eyes flickered across to the Avengers. He could see that they were desperate to find out what was going on with Tony. And he had more than a few questions for them, but right now that was going to have to wait. He tapped his fingers together a couple of times, to promise that they'd talk later. Clint and Natasha at least, would understand. "Let's get going," he said cheerfully to the agent, who somehow wasn't looking any less nervous.

He led them into the elevator, and he leaned against the back wall, his cane in hand, and they surrounded him like they were doing some classic threat containment. "Okay, sir, we'll have you back at the hospital within half an hour," the agent promised.

"I'm afraid not," Phil said apologetically. "You're going to take me straight to the Triskelion. There's something I need to discuss with the director as soon as possible."

The agent went from looking vaguely nervous to looking mildly terrified. "Uh, sir, our orders - " he began.

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Agent Bristow, isn't it?" he asked. "Look at me, Agent Bristow. Do you really think you're going to win this discussion? If I have to break out of your custody, it's going to be embarrassing and undignified for all of us, and Fury will not be happy at all. If you just go along with me for the moment, I guarantee you, he's going to be too busy arguing with me to worry about what your orders were."

Bristow looked worriedly at him for a long moment.

Phil just smiled right back, with patient charm.

* * *

Tony stayed slumped on the sofa long after Coulson had gone. He was alone again but somehow this time it didn't feel as enormous and awful.

He didn't think there was any way Coulson could have known what was going on. Okay, so technically if Natasha or Clint knew they could have told him, but he doubted that had happened. Oddly, he thought maybe it was because Agent hadn't reacted with shock or horror that he was so confident of that. Anything over the top would have been wrong and he'd have known it was a lie. But Coulson's normal calm? That was familiar. That was enough to tell him that the world hadn't gone completely insane, even if it kinda felt like it. Or maybe it was just because Coulson had never met Mark and so Tony hadn't spent the last six months watching them getting cosy. Of course, that also meant that Coulson hadn't been there to deal with Tony, so he hadn't got annoyed to the point of thinking that maybe a firm hand was just the thing Tony needed...no. No, that was pointless speculation. Coulson hadn't been there, but right now, Coulson thought that what happened to Tony was wrong and even if Tony disagreed – which he did, okay? - that was nice to hear.

His phone rang suddenly. Mark. At last. Relief flooded his veins and he ignored the way fear was battling it for second place. He let it ring a few times before he answered, determined that his voice should be steady at least. "Mark. It's good to - "

He didn't get a chance to finish. " - Why didn't you answer at once?" Mark demanded. "Is someone there with you?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, I'm on my own. I just...my phone was on the counter. I had to run to get it, that's all."

Mark snorted. "I bet." There was a beat. "Sorry," he said softly. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't take it out on you, it's just...this has been a fucking awful day, hasn't it?"

He laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. "Yeah. It really has. How are you feeling?" he asked, remembering with guilt the way Steve had been pounding on him. "Do you need to see a doctor? I could get one sent over."

"Right. Just think of the rumours that would cause," Mark said with a sigh. "'Spoilt billionaire throws beaten boyfriend out of the penthouse.' Is that really a headline you want to see, Tony?"

Oh, God, no.

"I'm just looking out for you, babe," Mark said, his voice rich with exasperation and affection. "Now. How are you doing?"

"Fine," Tony said at once.

The silence stretched out.

"Um. Agent Coulson made me take some painkillers," he confessed. "Sorry. I thought it would be alright since..." He trailed off, biting furiously at his lip. "I'm sorry for everything," he burst out. "I thought they all knew, but I guess they didn't, or some of them didn't, so when they asked I told them and I never thought they'd be so mad at you. I thought they understood."

"Understood what, Tony?" Mark said gently.

He closed his eyes. "That I deserve it. That I need you. I tried to tell them that, but they wouldn't listen."

Mark sighed. "It's okay. You didn't explain it properly, that's all."

He wondered how he was supposed to explain it. "You said no before, but can I come over?" he asked in a rush. "I'll fly. In stealth mode. The Avengers won't even know."

"And if you're seen then two minutes later that bitch will have me arrested for kidnapping and thrown in some deep hole somewhere," Mark told him bitterly.

Tony frowned. That bitch...? "Natasha?" he said disbelievingly, and bit back on the outrage at the description. "No. That doesn't make sense. I'm sure she _did_ know." Almost sure. 93.7% sure anyway, and he ignored the memory of her arms around him and the fierceness in her eyes when she'd promised no one would hurt him again.

"Think about it, Tony," Mark urged. "You know that they've been looking for an excuse to kick you off the team. And you've been giving them plenty, but nothing major enough to sell it to the public. You still have your 'fans' after all." He said the word disparagingly. Yeah. People who'd never met Tony sometimes cut him the slack he didn't deserve. "But we all know you'd fall apart completely without me there to keep you in line. So if they get rid of me, suddenly their problems go away."

It sounded kind of plausible. Sort of. Except... "That sounds very manipulative," he said.

"Too manipulative for the Black Widow?" Mark asked pointedly.

No. Nothing was too manipulative for Natasha. And Clint would go along with her, and the others would probably just do what was best for the team. It made sense. It made _more_ sense than their overreaction anyway.

"It would explain why they're trying so hard to get you to think of yourself as the victim," Mark continued. "Tony's a poor pathetic victim who deserves to do whatever the hell he wants now, because he's been treated so badly, right?"

He straightened up, angry to think that was what _they_ thought he could ever think about himself. "So what do we do?" he asked crisply.

Mark sighed. "I don't know, babe, don't you ever get tired of it? Always trying to prove that you're good enough?"

Never quite succeeding. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, of course I do."

"So maybe it's time to call it a day?" Mark suggested alluringly. "Maybe the two of us could go and find some tropical island somewhere. Relax. Finally get some rest. Just live for ourselves, no one to have to play a part for. Doesn't that sound good?"

It did. He wavered, ignoring the voices that were screaming at him that he'd still have to deal with Mark's expectations and the pain that came with that. But even that would be easier if there were just the two of them, because so many of Tony's fuck ups came from interacting with other people.

He swallowed hard. "I haven't earned that," he said. "I don't deserve that."

Mark was silent for a moment, and Tony could tell he was considering whether or not to argue it. Thankfully he didn't push it. "Alright," he said. "But keep it in mind."

He would. And in the meantime, he'd show the Avengers that he was perfectly capable of keeping himself in line. He'd be just as serious and professional as they liked.

When he ended the call though, he sat and stared at the wall and thought about what Phil had said about brainwashing. Doubt crept in.

* * *

Steve felt sure that Tony shouldn't be alone right now. He'd said as much, more than once, and he'd basically begged JARVIS to let him up to see Tony. But all he'd got back was a cold ' _Mr Stark is currently not accepting visitors'_ seventy-eight times. He very much doubted that JARVIS was even asking Tony if he wanted to see Steve, and he wasn't so sure he blamed either of them. He'd asked JARVIS to tell Tony that everyone was worried about him at least. He'd wanted to say sorry as well, but passing that on second hand via a computer hadn't seemed personal enough. No, if he was to stand any chance of making this right, he had to apologise in person.

Even then, he didn't know he he could expect Tony to forgive him.

He ran endless miles on the treadmill, trying to tire himself out and trying to come up with something he could say to Tony that would make this all better.

* * *

Thor had forgone dinner and retired to bed early. He had a lot to think about and for once he truly had not felt like food or company.

Midgard – Earth – was different from Asgard in many ways. The people did not think in the same way, and he was constantly taken by surprise that things he had taken for granted his whole life could look very different through Midgardian eyes.

There was shame on Asgard in not fighting back, yes, and he had already learned that was not the same here or at least not for all. But there was more shame in Asgard in attacking those who would not or could not fight back. There was shame in forcing someone else into weakness to try and prove your own strength; in so doing you could only prove your cowardice.

Tony had been ashamed. Mark, from all accounts, had not been.

He remembered many years ago when he had been a younger warrior with barely a handful of battles below his belt, there had been a man in his guard. Magnus. He had been older, a wise warrior whose strength and ferocity belied his grizzled beard. The men would joke the only thing Magnus was afraid of was his wife. She would be waiting for him whenever they came home, but unlike the others' loves, she didn't greet him with kisses and affection, but with slaps and insults. She was a tiny thing but she would beat against his arm and call him a beast and no man at all, fit only to lie with the dogs. The men would laugh; Thor amongst them. She could not truly hurt him and he was a noble warrior with no reason to fear her rebukes. Her words had been hollow lies, but now Thor wondered if anyone had ever told _Magnus_ that. He had always laughed as well, but Thor remembered the look in his eyes...

Tony was no weakling. Thor had battled along side him often enough to know the truth of that. He could not say the same of Mark. He wondered if knowing his paramour was stronger and braver and wiser and so much _better_ than he could ever hope to be had driven Mark to long to tear down the man he should have loved.

Sometimes the darkest sorcery came from simple words.

* * *

Bruce sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his breathing. He'd locked his bedroom door, and the door to his suite. It wouldn't do any good – locks couldn't keep the other guy in, and the man he was trying to keep _out_ was long dead – but it was a habit he couldn't break.

His clothes still smelled of bleach. His hands were blistered from where he'd been scrubbing the blood off the floor. He couldn't break that habit either.

Most of all, he couldn't stop _thinking._

"JARVIS?" he said softly. "I, uh, want to play some footage from my lab. I still have that access, right?"

"Yes, Dr Banner," JARVIS replied. Absently, Bruce wondered when he'd started to sound so cold. It must have been months ago. "Please specify the date and time."

"I'm not sure," he admitted with a sigh. "It was about six months ago. I was working on the X329 experiments at the time."

"The data from those experiments is available on your server," JARVIS informed him imperturbably.

"It's not the experiment data I want," Bruce snapped, frustrated. He could feel the other guy shifting restlessly beneath his skin and he struggled to stay on top of the anger. It was _his_ to deal with, and so much of it was directed inwardly. "I want to see the footage from the security camera footage from one of the sessions. Tony came in. He'd been drinking. I got angry and told him to get out."

There was a pause. "The data from those experiments is - "

" - no!" Bruce roared, and in his head the other guy roared with him. "No," he said, softer. "I need to see what I missed."

Another pause. He waited, breathless, and then the TV flickered into life and he was looking at himself gazing intently at the monitor in his lab.

A few moments later, Tony came in and Bruce cringed to see that his eye was purple and swollen shut. It must have just happened. And Tony had come straight to him and he'd...even as he watched, screaming at his past self to turn round, he could see himself dismissing Tony and telling him to apologise, without even asking him what had happened. With horror, he watched himself almost lose his temper at the very thing that Mark had apparently just hit Tony for. He must have made it so much easier for Tony to rationalise the abuse away. No wonder he'd thought Bruce condoned it.

"Was that the first time?" he asked, hoarsely.

"I do not have that information," JARVIS answered, sounding much more like a computer than he normally did.

It must have been one of the first times anyway. They hadn't been dating that long at that point. He'd had the chance to stop all this and save Tony from months of pain and abuse and he _hadn't._

"I'm sorry," he said wretchedly.

"I am not the one that you should be apologising to, Dr Banner," JARVIS said icily.

He nodded. "I'll apologise to Tony as well," he said, even if he couldn't imagine how Tony could ever forgive him. "But it's not easy to watch someone you love being hurt and know there's nothing you can do to stop it. Especially when no one else seems to care. I'm sorry for that."

There was silence for a long moment. "I find I am unable to accept your apology at this time," JARVIS said at last. "But I appreciate you making it."

That was no more than he deserved. Somehow he had to find a way to make this up. Determinedly, he ignored the whisper in his mind that told him to run and keep running.

* * *

Natasha's breathing had evened out twenty minutes ago, but Clint wasn't fooled. He waited patiently until she'd rolled over onto her side with that series of adorable snuffling noises she always swore she didn't make. Only then did he quietly creep out of bed and through to the living room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

Alright. He smiled grimly. Let's do this.

Naturally, they'd tracked where Mark went after he left. The penthouse suite at the Plaza, all paid for by Tony of course, and that only made Clint's anger burn brighter.

He drew the case containing his favourite sniper rifle out from it's hiding place. He happened to know there were four handy perches on surrounding buildings that gave you an excellent view into the penthouse suite of the Plaza. Everyone else was broken up with guilt and regret because they hadn't stopped Mark from hurting Tony. And yes, Clint felt that too, but more than that, he was _angry._ And he intended to put that anger to good use. At the end of the day, no matter what they'd done or failed to do, Mark was the one who'd actually taken the decision to hurt Tony. Clint intended to make sure he ever got that chance again.

With one last look back at the bedroom, he headed for the front door.

Natasha materialised out of the shadows directly in front of him. "Going somewhere?" she asked dryly.

He looked at her evenly. "I thought I might take a trip down town. Don't try to stop me."

She looked down at the gun case in his hands. "A gun? Really?"

"I thought it might be obvious if the bastard showed up dead with an arrow in his chest," he snapped defensively. "Don't worry. I'll make sure no one can trace this back to me." He brushed past her. She didn't stop him. Not physically, anyway.

"No one except Tony, you mean," she said. "Unless you really think he won't put it together in two seconds?"

He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. It's for his own good," he said levelly.

"He'll never trust any of us again," she warned.

He swung round to look at her. "You really think he's going to trust any of us after what we let happen?" he demanded. "No, if I can't do anything else, I need to make sure he's safe at least."

"Clint." She grabbed his arm. "Think about what you're doing. We both know what it's like when the ones that hurt you are the only ones you trust."

He hesitated. He _did_ know.

"You'll destroy Stark," she said softly.

She was right. But he was still angry. "Why don't you call him Tony?"

"You'll destroy _Tony_ then," she said evenly. "Does the name really matter?"

"Yes," he said.

She sighed. "Tony doesn't think we let him get hurt because I don't always use his first name."

"Maybe," he retorted. "But I doubt it helps convince him he's a valued member of our little family."

She didn't say anything, which was as good as conceding.

"Don't you want that bastard dead?" he tried.

Her eyes didn't give anything away. "I promised Tony I wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again. If I let you do this, I'll be breaking that promise."

"Fine." He slumped, defeated, and he let her take the gun case and put it away. "Do you really think Tony will ever be able to forgive us?"

She didn't look round. "I have to believe we can make things right. Else what's the point? Come back to bed, Clint. Please."

Later, when he was on the verge of sleep, his hand wrapped tightly in hers, he heard her whisper "Of course I want him dead. Just not now, and not like this."

He smiled into the darkness.

* * *

Natasha didn't sleep; she planned, or tried to at least. She'd always regarded pragmatism as her best trait. Whatever the situation, she was supposed to be able to accept it and move on with whatever means would get her to the best outcome without all the useless focus on what had happened, and what was _supposed_ to happen, and all the things she could have done differently.

But right now, she was struggling to move past the past. She was up to 302 signs that she'd missed. She'd failed one of the very few people she liked well enough to call friend. There was a lot more red in her ledger now than she'd known about this morning.

Worse, she was concerned that maybe one of the simplest ways for her to have changed all this would have been for her to _admit_ that she thought of Tony as a friend. What Clint had said about her not using Tony's given name had struck a nerve. She'd always found declarations of affection and friendship hollow and meaningless, and she'd assumed Tony would too. Even with Clint she wasn't open like that, and she shared her bed and her life with him.

But maybe if Tony had believed that he was her friend he wouldn't have felt like he had no place to turn. She saw the signs now with hindsight – Tony's misunderstood confession had occurred at least a few weeks after the physical abuse had started, and certainly long after the mental and emotional abuse had begun. Tony should have felt confident that he could turn to her the first time Mark insulted him, let alone hit him. Honestly, Tony should have felt confident enough to deal with the situation himself, and that wasn't her blaming him. So many negative things she'd said to his face over the past year, but all the positive ones she'd said behind his back or even kept to herself.

After Pepper broke his heart, she'd been too used to watching him. Evaluating. She should have tried harder to be the friend he needed. But she'd told herself there were other people here better suited than her to deal with the unpleasant emotional stuff. She'd convinced herself he'd let someone in eventually.

And then he had, of course. And look what had happened.

She glanced over towards the hidden gun in her nightstand. There was a part of her that regretted not letting Clint go after Mark, despite the fact that all the projections she'd run in her head had that making things worse in the long run. Clint hadn't seen the way he'd been going after Tony. Natasha had and she'd recognised the look in his eyes. Some people needed to be put down.

At least the warnings she'd given him while she'd escorted him out the tower would probably hold him back. She'd meant it too. If he tried to get back into the tower, or if he went near Tony again, she would find the deepest, darkest hole she could and she would bury him in it. And if he was very, very lucky, she'd shoot him in the head first.

That was the easy part. Convincing Tony that it was over and helping him heal? All she had were vague scraps of plans and a hope she wouldn't let herself feel.

* * *

Nick Fury didn't look especially surprised to see Phil hobble into his office. He also didn't look especially pleased.

"And just what the hell are you doing out of hospital?" he demanded.

Phil shrugged and lowered himself carefully into the chair in front of Fury's desk. "Sorry, sir. Something came up that I needed to attend to in person."

"Yeah? And what would that be?" Fury asked, leaning across the table.

He waited for a moment, studying Fury carefully. They'd known each other a long time. "Did you know?" he asked.

"There's a lot of things I know," Fury said, glancing away from him for a second. "Some of them you need to know about. Others you don't."

That amounted to a 'no'. Either way, Fury wouldn't admit to it, but if he'd been keeping the fact that Tony Stark was being abused to himself, for some inscrutable reason, he would have been a little more defensive about it. He would have given a reason at least.

"Sir, I imagine you're planning on appointing an official SHIELD liaison to the Avengers," he said, changing the subject. "I'd like the job."

Fury looked at him steadily. "You do remember that I'm your boss and you don't get to just walk in here and pick your own assignment?" he asked. "Especially not when you're still supposed to be in the damn hospital."

"Who else do you have that the Avengers trust?" he asked rhetorically. "I guarantee you, sir, if you don't have someone neutral in there _now,_ in a few month's time there won't be any team."

There was silence for a few moments. They both stared at each other, neither giving anything away. "What the hell is going on in that tower?" Fury asked.

Phil smiled slightly. "There's a lot of things I know, sir. Some you need to know about. Others..." He shrugged. "You don't."

Fury snorted. "You do remember I can still fire you."

"You're not going to," Phil said confidently. "I'm going to need my full authority reinstated. I've got a few operations I need to start running immediately."

"You're still not cleared for active duty," Fury reminded him.

"You need me, sir," Phil promised. "So do the Avengers."

There was another long silence. "Alright, get going," Fury agreed finally. "I'll get the paperwork cleared. Just...try not to tear any stitches or anything, alright? There's a SHIELD apartment waiting - "

" - I won't need it," Phil said, standing up. "A friend said I could stay at his tower."

"What was that about needing someone neutral?" Fury asked, eyebrow raised.

Phil ignored it. "Thank you, sir, you won't regret this," he said as he stood and walked to the door.

"I already am," Fury called after him. "Get out of here."

He did. And he waited until he was at least nominally clear of SHIELD surveillance before he pulled out his cellphone. "This is Agent Philip Coulson," he said when his call was answered. "I need to set up a class five surveillance operation. The target's name is Mark Lowing. He's to be considered of hostile intent. All data is for my eyes only."

That at least would stop things from getting worse without him knowing about it. As for things getting better...that was largely going to be up to the Avengers.


	10. The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while hasn't it? I'm sorry. I never wanted to abandon this story, I just lost the drive to write it. This is not an ending, but let's see if we can try for one, huh?
> 
> I have many, many issues with the current canon. Honestly, at this stage, I think my version of the Avengers are less assholeish and oblivious than the canon ones. So this is obviously completely non canon after the first Avengers film. Everyone loves each other and they all live together, JARVIS lives, Wanda and Pietro are not Hydra and at some point Jan Van Dyne, Sam Wilson, Rhodey and Carol Danvers are gonna join up.

By the time Coulson arrived back at Avengers Tower it was around four o'clock in the morning and he was close to complete exhaustion. There was a dull, persistent pain in his side and his legs were shaking enough that he had to put all his weight on his cane. It was possible that he still wasn't completely fit to be back on active duty.

 

“Good morning, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said as he stepped into the elevator, and the warmth displayed in the electronic voice was a marvel of engineering. “I am glad to see you return. Mr Stark has assigned guest suite C for your permanent use. You may decorate or change anything as you see fit. There is a household expense account for this purpose. I think, however, any further discussion can wait until you have rested.”

 

He nodded. “Thank you, JARVIS. May I ask how Mr Stark is? Has he slept and eaten?”

 

There was no perceptible pause. “He has not eaten but he is currently asleep.”

 

That was something. He just hoped it was restful. “Thank you,” he said. “Please do tell Mr Stark I was asking when he wakes. I don't want to give the impression I'm going behind his back. And please, also pass on my thanks for his hospitality.”

 

“I shall do so,” JARVIS confirmed. “Also, Agent Romanoff is awaiting you in the communal area. If you prefer though, I can take you directly to your suite.”

 

“No, I'd best check in with Natasha,” he said. Apart from anything else, she would want to see he was okay.

 

“Very well,” JARVIS agreed, and a second later the elevator doors opened to where Natasha was waiting for him, dressed in sweatpants and a camisole with a housecoat thrown over the top. He took careful note. She had a knife hidden in her sleeve, but apparently no gun and she was barefoot. She was comfortable here, under Tony's roof. She felt safe. That told him a lot.

 

She was studying him with the same sharp casualness. “Director Fury let you back here looking like that?”

 

He gave a tired smile. “I didn't leave him a whole lot of options. He's appointed me official SHIELD liaison to the Avengers.”

 

“One of these days you're going to get in trouble,” she warned. “I had the hospital send over your meds and I had the physio cleared to come out for daily appointments at two. If you try and dodge out of them even once I _will_ take you straight back to the hospital myself. Gift wrapped.” 

 

“Acceptable,” he agreed.

 

“Clint's picked up some groceries for you that should last a week at least, although most of the time we all eat in here. And Stark – _Tony –_ had some clothes delivered.” She anticipated his next question. “By proxy. He hasn't left the penthouse since Mark left, and he hasn't let anyone else in.” 

 

She was asking a question of her own there. “I'm not going to tell you what we talked about,” he told her.

 

It was only because he knew her so well that he caught the way her shoulders slumped. It was only because he knew her so well that she let that happen at all. “I failed,” she said in a low voice.

 

He didn't argue. He didn't try and tell her that no one had told her to make Tony Stark her responsibility. He just reached out and clasped her forearm briefly. “We'll make it right,” he promised.

 

“You should head upstairs and sleep,” she told him, eyeing him critically. “You look like hell. We can talk in the morning.”

 

Truthfully, he was too tired to even think about arguing. There was a lot needed done, and even more that needed said, but right now he desperately needed sleep. He turned to look at her again before he left. “We'll make it right,” he repeated.

 

“Of course we will,” she said, and the certainty in her voice didn't match the fear in her eyes.

 

*

 

Tony woke up curled tightly on his side with the sun shining in his eyes, and that immediately sent him into a spiral of panic because that meant that he was facing out of the bed and he'd turned his back on Mark, and that wasn't allowed, and why couldn't he do the simplest thing right? Even while he was asleep he was a fuck up.

 

“Good morning, sir,” JARVIS said softly, and Tony flinched because that was definitely going to wake Mark up, and why was JARVIS _here? “_ Mr Lowing is not here. You are safe.” 

 

Oh. He rolled over slowly, struggling to keep his breathing under control, and the other side of the bed was empty. For just a moment, he really couldn't remember why. And then yesterday came flooding back and he curled up tighter with a soft moan. Mark had left him. He'd screwed up and Mark had left, and the Avengers all thought he was weak and worthless and he was  _alone._

 

It was tempting to just stay in bed and wallow. His head was pounding and he ached all over, and basically he felt like shit that had been beaten into shape and then abandoned. The trouble was that wasn't really an option. He remembered the conversation with Mark yesterday. On the phone, not the one before Steve and Natasha had interrupted.  _That_ one he preferred not to remember at all. But on the phone, Mark had reminded him that no one wanted him on the team, had suggested that this overreaction was a ploy to drive a wedge between them since without Mark to keep him in check he would screw up and they would have a cast iron excuse to throw him off the roster. 

 

He wasn't going to screw up that way. Just once, he wanted to do something right. He was going to stay professional and respectful and  _quiet,_ and work twice as hard as he had before. Somehow, he'd manage to prove himself. 

 

If he could get out of bed, that was. He sat up with a pained groan as his body protested, and when he swung his legs over the end of the bed to stand up he had to grab his bad knee, seized with the sudden irrational fear his leg might just come apart.

 

“Sir, I would suggest you consider spending the day in bed,” JARVIS said worriedly. “You need time to heal.”

 

He smiled grimly. “The world's not gonna stop and let me feel sorry for myself, J. I need to get up and prove I'm not useless.”

 

“Such a self-evident demonstration is surely unnecessary, sir,” JARVIS said gently. “Your physical condition - “

 

“ - nothing I can't work through,” Tony pointed out dismissively. “I've had worse remember.

 

The unhappiness was obvious in JARVIS' voice. “I would prefer not to, sir.”

 

Right. Bad memories and all that. He forced himself to his feet and felt himself fall forwards almost immediately.

 

“Sir!” JARVIS exclaimed.

 

He caught himself on the bed and stood up more slowly this time. “'m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth. “Just a little stiff. Happens to a lot of men in the morning. Heh. Get it?”

 

“Very droll, sir,” JARVIS agreed as Tony slowly hobbled through to the bathroom.

 

“I can't just take the day off,” Tony explained wearily as he set the shower running and slumped inside. “Got combat training first thing, bright and early, and I've got to do some work on the suit, and Fury wanted that stealth technology miniaturised _yesterday,_ and I'm pretty sure I missed a debriefing on yesterday's mission, so I'll need to submit a report or something, and I've got that meeting with R&D at noon about the new OS for the Starkpad.” 

 

“There's nothing there that can't be cancelled,” JARVIS said firmly.

 

“There's nothing there that _can_ be cancelled,” Tony said equally firmly. The water running off him was tinged pink. With a sigh he conducted his usual check, but nothing seemed to be actively bleeding. Just dried blood left clinging to his skin. He should have got cleaned up properly before going to bed. Already without Mark he was slipping into bad habits. 

 

He yawned and let his head fall forwards against the tiles. He was so tired. Impossibly tired. “Maybe see if we can change the R&D meeting to a video conference,” he conceded. It would be easier to hide the bruises on his face that way. He really didn't need his employees spreading rumours about him. Particularly if there was any chance of it getting back to Pepper.

 

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said unhappily. He paused momentarily. “Agent Coulson arrived early this morning. Vital signs indicate he is currently sleeping peacefully in his suite. He wished me to thank you for your hospitality, and also enquired after your wellbeing. He indicated that I should let you know he was asking after you.”

 

Right. Agent was checking on him. He considered that tiredly for a moment, and decided he was glad.

 

The alarm in the shower went off far too soon. He'd barely managed to get clean. Certainly he hadn't managed to work any of the aches out. But still he shut the water off with a sigh, and stumbled out, shivering and reaching for a towel.

 

“You could stay in longer, sir,” JARVIS answered. “Mr Lowing would not know.”

 

“ _I_ would,” Tony pointed out. If he was going to convince everyone he could be a worthwhile person without Mark, he needed to convince himself first of all. And then maybe Mark could come back. He wasn't altogether sure that made sense, he just knew he had to _try._

 

“Sir,” JARVIS said slowly. “The amount of time that you spend in the shower does not relate in any way to how good a person you are. This is a purely arbitrary limit Lowing imposed on you, and in this instance it would be healthier for you to break the rules.” 

 

“He's coming back, JARVIS,” Tony said as he pulled on some loose – _covering –_ work out clothes and started to towel his hair dry. “I want him back.” 

 

“Perhaps this would be a good juncture to try breaking free of him, sir,” JARVIS suggested gently. “I know you did not wish him to leave, but he has. Wouldn't it be nice to not have to be afraid of lying in the wrong way in your own bed?”

 

He didn't have an answer to that. And JARVIS  _knew_ he wouldn't have an answer to that. Bastard. He finished getting ready and carefully ignored anything else JARVIS said. Of course it would be nice not to be hurt and scared all the time. But that was like saying it would be nice not to have to struggle for every breath each time he got the slightest cold. The things he needed to keep him alive and on track were just a bit more brutal than what other people needed. 

 

Stark men were made of iron. He'd show them what that meant.

 

Going downstairs, he was ten minutes early to training and he was proud of that until he realised he was the last to arrive and the others had already started warming up. As the door slammed behind him all five of them turned and stared at him in surprise. They hadn't expected to see him. And they sure as hell didn't look  _pleased_ to see him.

 

“Tony,” Steve said, recovering predictably quickly, but even though he was forcing a smile his brow was still knotted into a frown. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

 

“Uh, team training?” Tony pointed out and winced at how disrespectful he sounded. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But we did agree it was mandatory, no matter what.” He'd agreed. Even though he'd protested ridiculously at the time, convinced that there could be any number of things he might want to do that would be more important. That had been back while he'd still been with Pepper. Sometimes he'd just been contrary for the sake of being contrary.

 

“Except when you're injured,” Steve pointed out quickly, frustration clearly in his voice. Evidently he thought Tony had done the wrong thing again. “Then you're supposed to sit it out and give yourself a chance to heal.”

 

“I'm fine,” he protested, because the last thing he wanted was to let them bench him. “I can work through this, trust me. I've dealt with worse.”

 

He shouldn't have said that. Steve's eyes immediately took on that puppy-dog sheen he hated, and Thor stepped up with a sad expression. “You should not have to,” he said. “Truly, no one wished to risk injuring you further.”

 

“We've always been clear,” Steve said firmly. “No one trains when they're injured.”

 

He couldn't actually argue. That had always been the rule. It had just felt like it didn't count when it was him and it was all his own fault anyway. He remembered a time or two when he'd been hurt and they'd been doing something strenuous and someone – most often Steve – would frown at him and ask if he was okay to continue. It had felt like a threat. He always said yes.

 

Still, he couldn't back down either, because if he let himself be sidelined now he'd be telling them that he was weak and useless and everything Mark said they wanted to prove he was. “I can handle it, Steve,” he said desperately. “Please. You need me here, right? I mean, what use is training if it only applies to five of us?” 

 

Steve shook his head, still with that look in his eyes. “You should go back to bed, Tony,” he said gently. “You need rest.”

 

They were all looking at him with that look of pity, except Bruce who wouldn't even  _look_ at him, just gazing distractedly at the wall instead. Apparently no one thought they needed him.

 

“Well, that's not going to happen,” he snapped, his mouth set in a thin line.

 

Surprisingly, Natasha intervened. “Steve, you were wanting to run through the Sierra program today, weren't you?” She didn't wait for an answer. “That requires us to pair up, and without Tony we will be an odd number.”

 

Good. He felt something relax in his chest. Natasha thought they needed him, even if it was only to make up the numbers. And then she looked straight at him – even through Steve's unhappy protest – like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and said “I will sit out for the first half and Tony and I can start analysing yesterday's fight. Then when you need me, I can swap out with Clint and he can take over.”

 

No, he needed to train with them. He didn't want to be given some task to keep him out of the way...although it did need to be done, and if Natasha was working on it with him it probably wasn't wholly busy work.

 

As he wavered, Natasha smiled at him almost apologetically. “I know you don't like post-mission analysis, but you  _are_ good at it, and you  _were_ the one who spotted the pattern in their behaviour. Not to mention most a lot of the footage will be from your cameras.” Her smile turned rueful. “If we have to sit this out, we might as well be useful, right?” 

 

She was playing him. But she wasn't even trying to hide it. And maybe that meant it wasn't so much her playing him as her offering him a compromise. A way he could prove his use without actually doing the thing that apparently no one wanted him to do.

 

( _And why would she offer this olive branch if she wanted him off the team? Why would she care if he got hurt?_ )

 

He nodded slowly. “Alright then.”

 

In the privacy of his own mind, he had to admit he was relieved. He was exhausted and sore, and even just standing here his knee was seizing up. Three hours of gruelling work probably wasn't what he needed right now. Oh, he'd be able to push himself through the pain – he always did – but it was so much easier to just sit at the table in the corner of the gym and watch as the others relax and move to take their positions.

 

Natasha stood over him for a second, eyeing him critically until he felt the tension creep in between his shoulder blades. Had this been a test? Had he given in too easily?

 

But her expression shifted into something indecipherable and she smoothly stepped back out of his space. “Have you eaten today, Tony?” she asked.

 

No. He shook his head silently. The act of actually preparing food and then sitting down to eat had seemed an effort a couple of lightyears too far. And that meant he hadn't actually eaten anything in the last twenty four hours, and still he wasn't quite sure he was up to solid foods. 

 

Her eyes narrowed. “How about a smoothie?” she offered. “You can drink it while we work, and if you manage that okay I'll see about getting you something more substantial.”

 

That sounded good. But he shouldn't be letting her treat him like an invalid, and with a shake of his head he tried to stand back up and head to the fridge. “I can - “

 

“ - but I want to,” she said gently, motioning him back down. “Please, Tony. Let me do this at least.”

 

She was good at sounding sincere, he reminded himself, even as she made two smoothies filled with blueberries, strawberries, banana-flavoured yoghurt and all his favourites. There was probably a list of his favourites somewhere, kept just so she could manipulate him at the right time. And it didn't mean anything when she placed one smoothie in front of him, slid the laptop onto the table between them and sat beside him with a sigh before slurping on her smoothie loud enough to make Steve turn and give them a frustrated look.

 

It tasted good. He drank it in grateful silence.

 

“I was planning to duck out of training to bring you some food anyway,” she said suddenly as they watched the battle footage. “I didn't think you'd let me in, but I thought I'd at least try, and I figured even if you wouldn't open the door I could leave a tray outside. I wasn't expecting you to come downstairs this morning.”

 

“Training is mandatory,” he reminded her.

 

“Yes” she said, and she turned a distant smile on him. “I think I'd do the exact same thing in your position.”

 

Right. Empathy. He didn't know why it made him angry, but he repressed the feeling with the skill of an expert.

 

“It's safer to be strong,” Natasha went on. “To be needed.”

 

Tony's hand was on the touchpad. Unexpectedly, she placed hers right beside him, not touching but somehow not  _not_ touching. 

 

“You don't need to prove yourself, dorogoi moy,” she murmured. “Not to me. Not to anyone in this room.”

 

He kept his eyes fixed on the screen. “See, that's the second volley,” he said neutrally. “And that's when I started to notice.”

 

“I'll add it to the report,” Natasha agreed switching into professional tones so easily he might have dreamed what came before. “We need as much evidence as possible to prove these things weren't natural.”

 

A little after an hour later, Clint jogged over towards them and Natasha stood up gracefully. “ _We_ are the ones who need to prove ourselves to _you,_ ” she murmured with another one of those long looks.

 

He was still trying to puzzle that out when Clint dropped down next to him, almost knocking over the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal that Tony had eventually let Natasha fix for him.

 

Clint was smiling at him. But it wasn't reaching anywhere near his eyes. Probably he wanted to carry on training. Or, really, do anything that didn't involve babysitting a spoiled billionaire. “Sorry,” he muttered.

 

“Unless you're apologising for the time you took my phone apart, I don't want to hear it,” Clint warned easily.

 

“I needed the parts,” he said automatically, like he had a dozen times before, and Clint smirked the way _he_ always did.

 

“Told you Apple was good for something,” he said.

 

“Blowing up, maybe,” he returned, and Clint laughed and very lightly nudged his elbow like they were friends sharing a private joke.

 

There had always been something simple about talking to Clint. He expressed his affection the same way Tony did; with insults and jokes and the occasional random gesture. It was easier to deal with than Steve's sincerity, or Thor's heartfelt declarations or Bruce's awkwardness or Natasha's....or just Natasha, really. Even though Clint was SHIELD, Tony had kind of thought Clint would be honest with him. Hell, he had thought Clint _liked_ him. But now he didn't know what to think. Now, Clint looked at him with anger in his eyes.

 

“Anyway, I'm sorry you have to sit here instead of training,” he said.

 

“Yeah, cos I was really looking forward to letting Thor punch me into the wall again,” Clint said dryly. “Come on, Tony, you know how this works. No one trains when they're injured. Steve's always been very definite on that; he's like an anti-drill sergeant. Remember that time after Dr Robotnik, or whatever he called himself? All I had were bruises and a sprained calf muscle, and I still had to sit out for a few days.

 

“You helped me cover up though,” he pointed out sharply, remembering. “You were on my side then, why not now?”

 

He caught sight of Steve turning round to look at them quickly, his brow furrowed. Right. Enhanced hearing, of course. And he was glaring at Clint, which was even more evidence for Steve probably not having known....though of course, he might just be angry with Clint for hiding things from him.

 

Clint didn't seem to have noticed Steve anyway. He was staring blankly straight ahead of him. “You didn't get those bruises in the battle, did you?” he asked, except it wasn't a question. Tony shook his head. Clint took a deep breath. “And I told you to go upstairs to him,” he said thickly. “Damn it.”

 

The open anger sent an unpleasant shudder up his spine. Not fear, exactly, he wasn't scared of Clint – he couldn't be scared of Clint, that just wasn't acceptable. If he started acting like a coward every time someone raised their voice no one would ever hurt him again. Not to mention that since everything, since _Loki,_ he'd seen people afraid of Clint a time or six. People who remembered what Loki had made him do. Clint always acted like he didn't notice, but he'd be in a dark, silent mood for days afterwards. Tony didn't want to do that to him. Not just cos it would make Natasha angry.

 

He wanted to get back to the banter. That had been so much easier. “No biggie,” he said with an easy twist of a smile. As long as he could just dismiss everything Mark did, with any luck the others would take the hind and do the same.

 

That was the plan. Except Clint wasn't going along with it. “Yes biggie,” he said. “He shouldn't hurt you, Tony, you've got to know that.” He frowned in slow realisation. “That was the night you gave me the vibranium arrows. You thought I was angry with you...did Mark _tell_ you I was angry with you?”

 

He blinked.

 

“He was lying,” Clint said, sounding frustrated. “I wasn't angry with you then and I'm not angry with you now. Tony - “

 

His hands were trembling. He stood. “ - yeah, I'm done here,” he said and he was trying to sound smooth, he was really, really trying. “It's been fun, kids, but I've got work to do. I'll see you later.”

 

He couldn't stay here a second longer. Not with nothing making sense, and the anger and the pity, and he just didn't know how any of them was going to react anymore. Hell, he didn't even know how _he_ was going to react.

 

He limped towards the door, but Thor unexpectedly stepped in front of him and he froze.

 

“Out of my way, Goldilocks,” he snarled hoarsely after a second.

 

Thor regarded him for a long moment. “You are a good man, Anthony,” he said softly and Tony unconsciously shook his head. No. No. “You are strong and true as well as brave and intelligent. It is my honour to fight alongside you, and an even greater honour to call you my friend.”

 

He...yeah. He had nothing. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what Thor was looking for, he just wished he had his armour on right now.

 

Desperately he pushed around Thor and mercifully Thor made no attempt to stop him.

 

“Tony,” Steve called out after him but then Natasha said

 

“Let him go,” and in that moment he wanted to take back every bad thing he'd ever thought about her.

 

Yeah. He had to get out of here and as soon as he heard the door close behind him he was sprinting as fast as his knee would allow to the elevator and the safety of his workshop.

 

*

 

“Well, that could have gone better,” Steve said tiredly.

 

Natasha shot an exasperated look at Clint. “I said not to push him,” she said.

 

“I know, I know,” Clint said, rubbing his hand across his brow. “I just wanted to talk to him.”

 

Yes. So did Steve. The urge to try and find the words to make all of this right was pretty much irresistible. Honestly, he'd been surprised to see Tony at all this morning. After last night, he'd assumed that Tony was going to stay hidden away from them. It wouldn't be the first time he'd vanished for a few days, and this time around there was more reason to.

 

And maybe Tony coming down here to train with them was a good sign, even if the thought that Tony had been training and probably even fighting with injuries the rest of them had known nothing about sent a bolt of ice through Steve's heart. At least it suggested that Tony _did_ want to keep working with them, and to keep the team together. Steve wouldn't blame him for wanting to walk away altogether. But as long as that was what they all wanted there had to be some way forwards, right?

 

“We need a plan,” he said abruptly.

 

“Yeah, I'm not so sure we should be planning things behind Tony's back,” Bruce said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We really don't want him to feel like we're cornering him in any way.”

 

And Steve could absolutely see his point. The trouble was.... “I have absolutely no idea what to say,” he admitted. “I don't know how this could happen and I'm scared of saying something stupid and making it worse. And I think that if we're all coming at Tony head on, or from different angles, we _will_ make it worse. You know that if Tony decides to leave and go to Mark we have absolutely no way to stop him short of kidnapping him.”

 

“And we all know what happens to people who kidnap Tony Stark,” Clint remarked dryly.

 

“JARVIS, can you give us Tony's current status and location?” Steve asked.

 

“Mr Stark is fine, he's currently working in his workshop,” JARVIS said imperturbably.

 

Alright. He exhaled slowly. “And you'll tell us if that changes?” he asked.

 

There was a slight pause. “Would that I had any other option,” JARVIS said coldly.

 

He stood straight, his back stiff. “We're going to do what's best for Tony.”

 

There was no answer. They weren't trusted anymore.

 

“Okay,” he said. “That's enough training for today. Let's get changed and meet upstairs.” Training sessions might be crucial, but there were more important things out there. Besides, he doubted any of them could focus any more than he could.

 

“Phil is awake and would like to talk to us anyway,” Natasha said, her phone in her hand.

 

Ten minutes later they were upstairs sitting around the kitchen table. Agent Coulson was already waiting for them at the head, back to being dressed in a plain suit. He smiled slightly and still somehow managed to look stern.

 

“Why don't you tell me what happened?” he asked, looking at all of them in turn. “Start from the beginning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this. Again, I'm sorry that it's been so long.


End file.
